


Back from Hell

by helena_s_renn, Helenas_bitch, orphan_account



Series: Teh Winchesters [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amnesia, Guilt, Homophobic Language, Masturbation, Multi, Rough Sex, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 07:14:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 62,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_s_renn/pseuds/helena_s_renn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helenas_bitch/pseuds/Helenas_bitch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean returns from Hell. It is <em>not</em> like old times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is RPG-fic, so it doesn't read the same as 'regular' fiction.

The knock on the door was unexpected. Sam frowned as he walked over to open it. He'd only been here for a few hours, and Ruby's hex bags were the real deal, so no demon should know where he was. Then, there was Bobby, but Sam knew how to hide when he didn't want to be found. His fake credit card was a good one, so it was unlikely that it triggered a red flag or that the manager had noticed anything. It was probably a drunk, a salesman, or someone who had the wrong door. Nevertheless, Sam made sure he had his knife behind his back when he turned the knob – and froze.

_Dean!_

It couldn't be. Either he was hallucinating or having a vision, or something really bad was going on. Maybe a demon from the higher steps of hell's hierarchy had unearthed his brother's body despite all the protection Sam and Bobby had provided for the grave...

Speaking of Bobby, he was standing behind the apparition, looking tense and nervous. They stared each other in silence for a long moment. When 'Dean' finally spoke, the voice was so quiet, with so much feeling, and so very much Dean that it ripped Sam's heart – as if there was anything left to tear after four months, but by now Sam knew that the pain would never stop.

"Heya, Sammy."

Sam was still paralyzed with shock, but when 'Dean' stepped into the room and approached him, Sam pulled his knife and lunged at him, shouting, "Who are you?"

After the briefest of struggles, Bobby pulled him off Dean. If not for the ice still running through Sam's veins, he'd torn loose with no problem and killed the monster pretending to be his brother. Then, an irrational hope that it could be true broke through. "Who are you?" he asked again, his voice almost breaking.

Dean's eyes were burning into his as he scoffed. "Like you didn't do this?!"

"Do what?" Sam replied, feeling stupid as if it should have been obvious to him.

At this point, Bobby cut in. "It's him. It's him. I've been through this already, it's _really_ him."

Sam could only stare in disbelief. Bobby didn't make such mistakes, but...

Dean pulled a grimace Sam couldn't quite read and said, "I know. I look fantastic, huh?"

"What?" Again, Sam felt stupid, but this time, it was over Dean's comment. Only his brother could return from hell after four months and come back with, _I look fantastic, huh?_

Bobby let him go as Sam threw himself in his brother's arms. "Dean, Dean, it's you! God!" The hold around his shoulders was so fierce that it hurt, but Sam wouldn't have complained if Dean had crushed his ribs. Dean's scent hit him, and Sam wanted to eat Dean alive, to crawl into him, to become one with him again. He needed to be closer to him, and...

Suddenly looking up, he saw the tears in Bobby's eyes as the older man watched them. "Bobby," Sam croaked, "could you give us a minute?"

Bobby nodded. "I'll go find a beer," he announced and left the room.

"Dean, Dean," Sam whispered urgently as he pressed his body against Dean's frame. When had he become so hard? It didn't matter. Rubbing frantically against his brother's hip, Sam knew that he was about to cum. "Gods, I missed you so much! Love you! Need you! The bed..." he said, then continued when Dean didn't react, "...or not. You're right, here and now is perfect." 

He pulled Dean's shirt tails from his pants and went to work on the jeans button, cursing his shaking fingers. "Little help here, please?"

* * *

Alone in the dark, confined to a claustrophobic, nearly airless space not much larger than his body, Dean had awoken two days before. His lighter had been in his pocket. Once he was able to confirm he was in a plain pine box of a coffin, he'd clawed his way out, dug upwards through six feet of dirt. He was missing half of his fingernails as testament to that. 

The world he'd emerged into was over-bright, the center of a blast radius. Dean had had no idea where was, but flashes of where he'd come from bombarded him. Hell. H-E-double hockey sticks. Forty years of pain, torture, bereft of everything he'd had, been, and loved, and eventually, after they'd beat, mind-raped and worse, and cut it out of him, all humanity. He'd have died every single day, had he still been alive. How he'd come to be here, on what he assumed was Earth, the United States, in the 30-year-old body he'd left it from could only be explained one way: Sam. The utter emptiness of how much Dean missed his brother hit him so hard he'd nearly fallen down and wept, nearly vomited up his empty guts. 

He'd kept walking. It was the only way. Finally, he'd wandered to an abandoned filling station. Not long abandoned, as there was still water, food, even porno mags. And a newspaper. What was forty years in hell had been only four months on Earth, or there was a time-slip involved. Some strange presence was tagging him, he could feel it. It had nearly blown his eardrums. His body felt odd, like he didn't fit. All his scars were gone but a new hand-shaped one on his left shoulder. He needed to get to Bobby – Sam would be well off the grid and impossible to locate without resources. 

Sioux Falls was within hitchhiking distance, but that would take too long. Dean hotwired the first vehicle he found, filled the tank, and headed west. The old crumbling farmhouse had never looked so welcome. Bobby had nearly shot him and then put Dean through test after test to prove he was not shifter, demon, or anything else unnatural, and they set about finding Sam. 

Dean drew more and more tense and keyed up as they approached the motel Sam's faked credit card pointed them to. It was like the increasing cascade of noise during Led Zepp's "Gallows Pole", a song in which 'brother' and riding for many a mile and concepts of death featured prominently. Then he was walking through the door, staring at his little brother like... He didn't even know. Nothing from his former life pre-hell could have made him so happy, as to know his only family was there. Of course, Sam, stone-cold hunter that he'd become in Dean's absence, tried to knife him and Bobby had to pull him away and repeated he'd already tested Dean. 

Blinking, tears in their eyes, the brother fell into a hug so huge and momentous it was like heaven and earth broke. Sam was hot and shaking and so goddamn welcome. Bobby slipped out of the room to leave them alone, Dean assumed to talk. 

How wrong he was! His mind went from warm and fuzzy to WHAT. THE. FUCK!? in a split second. Sam was... Kissing him – and not fraternal, brotherly kisses on the cheek or something, but full on the mouth... with tongue! Dean was so shocked he couldn't even move. And... when Sam pressed against him, it was painfully evident that he was hard. Really hard. Dean tried to write it off to adrenaline or maybe they'd caught him in the middle of jerking off. No, he was _humping_ deliberately against Dean's hip like a dog, and pawing at him! Trying to take his pants off! 

Bile rose in Dean's throat, and his dick shrivelled to the size of his little finger. "Sam! What the hell? Stop!" 

Sam didn't; he babbled on about... What? Doing it standing up? "What is the matter with you?!" Dean roared, pushing hard against Sam's chest. "Get the fuck off me!" 

* * *

_"What the hell?" "Stop!" "What is the matter with you?!" "Get the fuck off me!"_

High and euphoric that he had Dean, _his Dean_ , back, Sam's brain couldn't make sense out of the words. What was wrong with his brother? Then Dean pushed hard against Sam's chest, and Sam all but flew across the room. Dean was as strong as ever, he thought with pride. Send him to hell and still he'd...

_Dean had just returned from hell._

"Oh fuck." Sam brought a hand to his mouth. "Fuck, Dean, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I..."

Sam's mind went into a spin, showing him all the kinds of torture he'd imagined during the past four months. How his brother could have survived this, how he'd gotten out, Sam had no idea. But it was clear that one didn't escape hell and return straight to one's previous life. Sam's erection shrivelled up at the thought that sexual abuse had obviously been on the list of things Dean had had to endure, and here was Sam, practically jumping on him before they'd even exchanged a proper greeting.

For a minute, they stood in the room and stared at each other, Dean wary and suspicious, Sam helpless and uncomfortable.

"Dean..." Sam finally said when the silence became too painful. "I can't believe this... Please tell me that I'm not dreaming? Are you really here?"

* * *

At least Sam finally backed off. Dean didn't acknowledge his apology, couldn't be sure it was genuine. Where he came from, such was usually the prelude to something worse. He and Sam had always been fairly equal in strength, but Dean was still uneasy about his abilities till he had a chance to test them all out. Bobby had lent him a knife. Obviously he was not up to speed or it would have been open in his hand and not still in his pocket when Sam drew on him. Reflexes weren't up to par.

Hell was starvation, dehydration, bleeding sometimes from every orifice. It took a lot out of a person, by the end of whatever Hell called a day, in their pseudo life. And then it would start over. It hadn't happened to the physical self he was currently inhabiting. That didn't mean it would never be gone from his psyche. Dean shoved those memories down and turned away from Sam. Despite being in his own skin, somehow made new but for the raised design on his upper arm, Dean felt repulsive. Hideous. Of course Sam would have questions, starting with the one he'd already just asked. Any answers he had would have to be tempered. Most of what he could remember at all, Dean would never speak of. And beyond that, he recalled little, knew little. 

"This is South Dakota, right? Looks to me like I'm in some shithole motel, same as you. You're not dreaming. Unless I am, or we're both dead." But Dean had been dead and it sure as hell – ha. hell. – wasn't like here.

This was awkward as fuck. After the last day-plus building up this moment in his head, it had almost, so close, been the reunion with his beloved brother he craved before it had fallen unbelievably flat. Why did Sam have to go and do that, molest him like some queer in a gay bar? It was on the tip of his tongue to ask, but no. Sam looked positively broken-hearted right now that he hadn't... WTF? Yeah, that. Fucked him? Jesus Christ. There, that was the first thing Dean never wanted to talk about. Sam's eyes had gone shiny-flat but Dean could not reach out. Not like this.

"You got a beer, or something stronger?" he asked to fill the silence. Dean sat down gingerly on one of the chairs in the kitchenette and drummed his fingers on the surface of the table. "So, uh.... what have you been up to? Hunting, right?" How fucking lame. Dean looked up, grinning through his teeth. "How's tricks?"

* * *

"I... Sure." Sam grabbed a bottle of JD from his duffel and set it on the table, making sure to keep at a distance from his brother. Dean looked spooked and acted as if he was a total stranger – which he probably was. After the first emotional outburst, Sam told himself that he had to give Dean space and time. He needed to know what had happened to his brother, and at the same time he didn't want to know, wasn't sure if he could handle it. If there was enough of the 'old' Dean left, he'd refuse to talk about it, and already Sam was worrying how he could help his brother through this – and how he could get 'his' Dean back.

Space and time, he reminded himself. Looking around and not seeing glasses in the seedy hotel room, he went to the bathroom and fetched two plastic cups. It was clear that Dean didn't want Sam anywhere near him, but he'd asked how Sam had fared, which meant he expected an answer, and not necessarily from the other side of the room. 

Sam made a point of moving the second chair further away from the table before sitting down. He'd do anything in his power to make his brother feel safe.

"Yeah, been hunting," he said. It was all he could think of, it was as if his mind was empty. Oh, sure, there were myriads of questions he wanted to ask, but he feared that Dean would just bolt if he asked, and Sam couldn't risk losing him again.

His hands were shaking when he filled the cups, fuller than he'd intended to, but maybe the alcohol would help take the edge off.

"How long... since you returned?"

* * *

Sam fetched a bottle of something strong and alcoholic and poured them both a healthy slug with shaking hands. The calculating part of Dean's mind told him it was the chemical after-effects of thwarted desire. He knocked back the whole glass and grimaced, mouth twisting. It burned all the way down, and he felt the artificial euphoria almost instantly. Hell had made him a lightweight. He'd soon fix that. 

His brother was staring at him; Dean looked anywhere else, taking in the room's tired, near-antique furnishings. Ugly brown-patterned bedspreads, dark panelled walls, a rust-stained sink, mini fridge and stove circa 1958. The place was depressing and down-trodden. Or maybe that was just him. Dean motioned for a refill. 

"Two days, closer to two-and-a-half. Took Bobby and me a while to track you down." His words almost gave the impression _he_ was the hunter and Sam, the hunted. Ten minutes ago, Dean would have laughed and agreed. 

"So what about you? What cases?" 

* * *

Dean wouldn't look at Sam, but Sam couldn't take his eyes off his brother. Dean looked the same as... before, and yet totally different. For one thing, the scars on his neck, face, and hands were gone, but the real change was more subtle. It was the way Dean sat hunched as if he feared an attack any second. From what Sam could see, Dean's eyes were hooded and suspicious, scared and a thousand years old. He wondered if this Dean could smile.

Sam filled the glasses again. His own was still half full, but he'd never been able to hold his liquor and he didn't want to lose it with Dean at his side. Not when his brother had almost had a panic attack from Sam's attempt to kiss him.

When Dean asked what cases Sam had worked, Sam raised his glass and took a long sip, stalling while trying to think what he could tell Dean about his recent hunts. He'd better not mention Ruby, that was for sure. Nor his latest research and the development of his psychic powers.

"Well," he said slowly, "I started with little things." _I wasn't used to be hunting on my own, without you._ "Poltergeists, a couple of salt and burn jobs." _An incubus and a succubus pair that had teamed up._ The way Dean had reacted to Sam's suggestion of anything sexual, Sam decided to keep this one to himself, too. 

"And, of course," he resumed, "I tried to bust you out..." Sam frowned. "How _did_ you get out?"

* * *

There was some hesitation in Sam's speech as he told of a few of his hunts, as if he were weighing what he could tell Dean. And by inference, what he couldn't. Dad would never have put up with... Dad! It was the first time since he's been back that Dean had even thought of the man. Dad had been in Hell nearly a year... And Dean was out in less than half that. Why? He had made a deal to save Dean's life, so Dean could keep watch over Sam, and he'd failed miserably. Ashes on his head. 

Sam filled the cheap plastic glass again and Dean swallowed the liquor in one gulp. So, Sam had been taking easier cases. Made sense. At least he knew his limits. There had been no one to back him, so that was good. But now he was asking again about Dean being _here, now._

"I honestly don't know. One minute I was there," he was not about to say doing what, "and next, I was waking up buried in that coffin. Uh... Thanks for not burning my body. I guess." He gave a crooked grin that was probably horrible and looked down at his own unscarred hands. He still had the silver ring and the amulet Sam had... Dean should be grateful. All he felt was guilty. 

"Maybe it'll come back to me. Till you asked me 'how', I assumed it was you, brought me back." 

* * *

Sam lowered his head in shame. "I couldn't," he whispered miserably. "I tried, did everything I could, but it wasn't enough. Please believe me, I really tried." Even now, it brought tears to his eyes, of frustration and utter failure. How could he tell his brother about the weeks, months of despair when neither his computer nor any library or hunter he'd spoken to could provide even the tiniest hint of hope? Or, even worse, that he'd summoned every crossroads demon he could find, begging them in tears and on his knees to let him take Dean's place in hell? If he told Dean that, he was sure his brother would explode.

Reaching blindly for his glass, Sam emptied it in two gulps. "Dean... I missed you so fucking much."

* * *

"I–" Dean's reply was going to the exact echo of Sam's, only it stuck in his throat. He didn't want his brother to mistake his meaning, to take it that he had improper feelings like apparently Sam had been nursing. It had to stem from the depth of Sam's grief, because he would have believed Dean truly gone. Why hadn't he found himself a lay or ten and worked it out? Some women liked guys with issues. Some liked it rough. Some would have been willing to hold him while he cried. An echo of... something... chased through his brain. _...cries his way through sex._ The voices sounded a lot less burdened than either of them were right now, if not exactly happy. 

"I told you not to try, remember? I told you and told you. You could have gotten yourself pulled in, too, that was the deal. Sam. I couldn't even think of you in that place, except to know you weren't there." Dean wished he were drunk enough to pass out. The mother of all hangovers would be easier than this.

* * *

When Dean opened his mouth to reply to Sam's confession how much he'd been missed, Sam hoped for a moment that everything would be alright. That Dean would smile at him, tell him how much he'd missed Sam, how much he loved Sam. Maybe such words had been on his tongue, but Dean hesitated, and Sam could see how his brother changed track in his mind.

It felt like a blow to the head. Sam had known that the last thing Dean would have wanted was Sam making a deal, but hearing it, that everything he'd tried to save his brother would have been so wrong in Dean's opinion, it hurt.

Sam knew he was drunk enough to be disinhibited. A glass and a half of JD would do this to him. He'd always been a lightweight, so unlike his brother, who could drink anyone under the table. He should really keep his mouth shut, but he found that he couldn't.

"Dean! Don't you get it? I fucking love you, man! You're my brother, and you should have never made this deal in the first place! I'd have given anything, _anything_ , to take your place!" 

The silence following his words was almost painful. Sam continued in a pained whisper, "If only they'd have let me..." He hid his face in his hands. "They wouldn't even listen to me..."

* * *

"Don't... Just shut up!" Dean grabbed the bottle of Jack and drank directly from it. "What good would it have done? Either way, one of us would've been here, the other in Hell. And believe me when I tell you, you don't want to experience that for even five minutes." That amount of time was enough to have an appendage cut off, to be eviscerated, flayed, any number of things. Alistair, his warden, was creative. 

"I know why I made that deal. You were dead. Dead, Sam, but not doomed to an eternity of suffering, or causing..." No, he couldn't. What would Sam think if he knew how weak Dean was? "I remember that. When you died. On our knees in the rain and the mud, how the life went out of your eyes and I..." his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, like Sam's had. "I couldn't go on. Alone. Without my little brother. So yes. I was a wuss about it. I'm... sorry." There, he'd said it, but Sam had no idea of the extent. "Had to have you back, even for a year." 

Dean leaned back and took another slug. He noticed how Sam struggled with his emotions. It was almost an intellectual observation. While Dean's body had similar reactions – trembling, sweating, prickling eyes – he was disassociated. He could remember the overwhelming, crazy-making sense of loss. There was a wall around him now, and he didn't think it could ever come down. Not even if Sam never touched him again for the rest of their lives. Whatever being brothers had meant before, it had slipped from his fingers. 

After a while, Dean resettled himself. "So now what? We hit the road again, just like before? Take some harder cases?" 

* * *

It didn't make sense. _Dean_ didn't make sense. "Of course, I didn't _want_ to experience that," Sam replied. "But..." How could he explain what it had been like, being left alone knowing that his beloved sibling was tortured for eternity.

"I didn't want you to go to hell," he said, heat rising in his cheeks. "I never asked you to bring me back from the dead – and then leave me alone after a year. You couldn't live without me, you say. Well, imagine that I didn't want to live without you either. Especially not knowing that you were rotting in hell because of me."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "And now you suggest we return to hunting, just like that? As if nothing ever happened, these past four months didn't exist? What's wrong with you?"

* * *

Now it was Dean who lifted up his eyes and stared at his furious brother. There were ruddy patches on Sam's cheeks and his eyes had gone demon dark. He'd allowed a chink in his armor, and what it did was give Sam a foothold onto a running commentary of his own resentments. He was angry, and in true Sam form, running off at the mouth meant increasing volume. Having had his eardrums pierced several times, that alone didn't faze Dean. He wasn't afraid of Sam. The content of his words, though. Cutting. That moment in the rain, when Sam died, had been the worst thing that had ever happened to him in his life, and basically, Dean's sacrifice meant nothing to Sam. Worse than nothing: He hated him for it. Or maybe he loved him too much. That really twisted Dean's guts. 

"Are you saying I'm _selfish_?" Dean barked when Sam finished his first barrage. He slammed his open palm down on the table. He had to rally. "Are you kidding? We almost beat Lilith at her game, thought for sure we'd find a way. We were this close. If not for fucking Ruby and the hellhound..." he shuddered. It had not been a gentle death. "I was on borrowed time, anyway. You know that." He hadn't planned on talking, and now he couldn't shut it off.

"Hell yeah, hunting. Duh. 'S what we do. 'S all I know. Killin' things 'n' savin' people. It was good, wazzn't it, Sam?" God, he was pathetic. He just wanted things to be the way they used to be, what he could remember of it, so he could fly by rote till he'd dealt with the forty years of damnation he'd just been pulled from. Speaking of that, "If _you_ din pull me out, then who did? No one does anything for free. We need to find out. And prolly kill 'em." He shook his head, and looked away again. "What do you suggest we do? Put on eyeliner, dye our hair black, wear sssskinny jeans and get stoned? Why can't ya just welcome your brother back? Huh? I'm here, izn't that what you just said you wanted? Your _brother_ , Sam. Not your dead brother, or your keeper, or your pseudo-father and sure as hell not your big gay boyfriend or whatever the fuck." Sam's eyes narrowed even further, gleaming dangerously. He looked like he was this close to throwing a punch. Dean shut his mouth, other than that he swallowed another huge, burning gulp of whiskey. When he shifted in his seat again, he swayed a little. Things were getting fuzzy.

* * *

All Sam wanted was to hug Dean and promise him that everything would be good. But the way Dean behaved told Sam that things wouldn't be good. His brother was changed. Dean had pushed him away when Sam had hugged him. Sam was feeling more and more helpless and the only way he could deal with his emotions, the pain of being denied by the brother he loved more than anything else, was by letting his anger grow even more.

"Are you kidding me about you being selfish?" he spat. "Remember when we first met with a crossroads demon? There was the guy who'd made a deal to save his wife from cancer? You told him he was selfish, that he only did it for himself because he couldn't face life without her. That she had to face life without him and had he ever wondered what she'd have chosen? Remember what you told me after Roy fixed your heart? After Dad..."

Sam's voice broke. He ripped the bottle from Dean's hand and took a deep gulp, shuddering when the liquid burned down his throat. 

"Yes, I want my brother back," he yelled. "Alive and none of the things you said, surrogate father or keeper. Don't you think I'm sick of being alone? There's no big gay boyfriend. There isn't _anyone._ After you came to me in Stanford... I have no friends. No family. Couldn't face Bobby after you..." Sam drank again, aware that he was losing it but he didn't care any longer.

"I want my brother back," he hissed. "And if I remember right, it was _you_ who didn't want to be welcomed a few minutes ago." Had it really been only a few minutes? Sam felt as if a life time had passed. " _You_ pushed me away. And since you made all these gay comments, need I remind you that you are exactly as gay as I am?"

* * *

Maybe he said it without saying it, but it was a big fat yes. Sam did think Dean selfish, and like any good lawyer, he had backup. Not because he was well on the way to drunk, Dean hadn't remembered the incident with the crossroads demon and the man's cancer-stricken wife until Sam mentioned it. Earlier, Sam's dying was foremost in Dean's mind, and yet, so many little things that he should be able to recall immediately from their childhood and beyond were just gone. Maybe he had to be reminded, for them to come back. Bobby had some limited knowledge of their lives, true, but only Sam had been there through most of it. The way they were going, Dean could almost count on Sam bolting or kicking his ass out. He felt sadness. But again, not the deep soul-rending depth of feeling like he'd had, pre-hell.

"I did say that, remember that now..." Dean swayed on his chair. "So that's the Winchesters. Selfish bastards. First Dad, then me... selling our souls to save our... our loved ones. I didn't deserve it. But you did, Sammy." No matter what Dad had told him. Maybe more so, because of it. So maybe Dean couldn't dredge up solid-fact reasons why that was so. He just knew that it was.

He saw Sam drinking more. Sam, like their father, was a surly drunk. He would want to fight, physically or verbally, and keep fighting till one of them was bloody or he passed out. Unless things had changed, Dean was, to put it simply, a blond. Only, there was no one to hit on here. No one to pick up and go home with or bang in the back of the Impala, and fuck, he had been cold and numb below the waist since his return anyway. Dean had never, besides when he was on the brink of death, had more than half a day go by that his little head didn't try to do the thinking. 

The way Sam was carrying on, that was a cover-up. They'd had this conversation before, too. It seemed to be filtering through, finally, as the alcohol broke down some of Dean's inhibitions. What it had been like, when Sam died. His brother had lived through the same, and more recently. Had seen _his_ brother ripped to shreds before his eyes, powerless to stop it. As well he should be yelling at Dean. Empathy must be another thing Dean had lost in hell. He would work on that.

Sam was railing about being alone. Well. Dean himself couldn't take it. Not even for one minute. Again, he was the weakling. As his brother got louder, Dean did the opposite. Everything washed over him, his brother's pain. Dean had said and done things in front of Bobby in the forty-eight hours following Sam's death that made him cringe. Yes, that came back too, just then. Sam's choice to alienate himself was the opposite, totally Sam-like. Isolation, rather than have witnesses to the crazy. It wasn't until Sam brought up 'gay' that Dean felt a protest. _No big gay boyfriend._ Had he really said that? He'd been referring to Sam's... reaction, but there were still ways to explain it, not that he wanted to think about it. Sam was a dude in his mid-twenties, he supposed with a healthy sex drive, and why not? The things that had been done to Dean in the pit... he should never touch anyone again. If he even could. Just another way he was broken.

"Sam, I'm not gay. Sssso you're not either," Dean concluded, all his words beginning to run together. "Whatever. I'm back. And now I'm drunk... The two of us should quit whining about it like little girlzzz huh? 'S done. Your brother... me, I mean, is going to be different. Sorry if that hurts you. I wanted to be welcomed. That's all I could think about. Just... keep yer boner off me. That'ssss all I can sssay."

* * *

Sam's mouth dropped open at Dean's words. That he had _forgotten_ how he'd felt after Dad had made a deal for his life – it was impossible, but here Dean was sitting opposite of him, and telling him he only remembered it after Sam had brought it up. It wasn't the only thing that struck Sam with surprise. The 'old' Dean wouldn't have admitted that Sam was right, at least not without a major fight. That he didn't deserve to be saved, yes, Dean had said that before, too, but Sam had thought he'd succeeded in convincing the 'old' Dean that he did deserve to be saved.

Another thought occurred to him. If Dean had forgotten about these things, what else had he forgotten? Or what had hell done to his memories; maybe that was the better question. Was it possible that Dean didn't remember what they had shared? Their love and their passion? 

A deep sadness washed over him and the anger was gone in an instant. This Dean was so... broken! And he was also drunk, yet another surprise; in his earlier days, Dean had tolerated much more than Sam, and yet although Sam felt pretty buzzed it was Dean who seemed three sheets to the wind.

"No, we're not gay," he said softly, confirming what Dean had said. It wasn't even a lie as neither of them had ever thought of other men except each other. "And we're not whining like little girls. You've been in hell and I... It hasn't been easy." They'd have to talk more eventually, but Sam felt that this wasn't the right time.

"Dean." Sam stood up from his chair on slightly wobbly legs and walked around the table. "You're back," he said. There was something in Dean's eyes that made Sam wonder if his next move would be welcome. He'd never seen this look before until moments before the hellhounds had ripped his brother to shreds. Dean was scared out of his mind. Sam swallowed.

"Dean, you're back," he repeated. "That's all what counts. Tell me if this is too much." He felt awkward, towering over his sibling, so Sam went down on his knees, then leaned against the chair and wrapped his arms around Dean. "No boner," he whispered. Even if he'd been hard, Sam's crotch was pressed against the chair, not Dean's body.

"Dean, you're my brother and I love you." Sam looked into Dean's eyes and smiled under tears. "And now I'm a little girl after all because I'm so fucking happy to have you back that I'm going to cry."

* * *

How was he supposed to function in this world? Sam had always been the sensible one where Dean was reckless, and now he was freaking out. Although Sam, Dean seemed to recall, had also been the more verbal about his thoughts and feelings, this was getting to be overwhelming. At least he confirmed not being gay before he did it, but when Sam got up and stood over Dean at his full height, Dean wanted nothing more than to cower, or start flailing and kicking. Instead he froze, as if nailed to his chair. 

But then Sam knelt down, which was just plain strange. All of his anger from a minute ago was gone. This time it was only his upper body that pressed against Dean's as he hugged him, admitting that he was going to cry. He eyes were already wet, and then liquid was streaking down his cheeks before Sam buried his face in Dean's flannel shirt and the flood began. His brother shook so hard, sobbing, and Dean was still frozen. He knew he should react. Any normal human would mirror the emotion to some extent. Try to comfort. He had no idea what to do. Sure there had to be some knowledge of the correct way to soothe an emotional outpouring, Dean scoured the recesses of his time-before memories. There were things he didn't want to know or see. But... 

"Sam, it's alright," he managed finally. Dean leaned in, sliding one of his arms around Sam's shoulders. He used his other hand to comb through Sam's thick, soft hair, which was longer than ever. That was okay, he supposed. Why Sam was grabbing on to him so hard, his long fingers digging into Dean's bicep on one side, the other around his back and gripping his shirt almost hard enough to rip it, was a mystery. There had to be something more, something he would remember eventually. 

That was the thing... Eventually. Dean kept stroking his brother's hair, wondering how long he'd go on. Sam's hot breath and snot and tears dampened the front of his shirt. "Ssh, you're okay. I'm not dead anymore, you don't have to be sad." 

* * *

"It's not okay," Sam pressed out. " _You're_ not okay, and neither am I. But we will be." One way or the other. He had no idea how they'd get there and he didn't say it out loud, but he needed to believe in it. 

Right now, the only thing that kept him – alive – was Dean's arm around him and the hand that was so gently stroking his hair. Sam clung to his brother as if Dean was his life line, which, in a way he was. It was only the – insane – hope of getting Dean back that had kept Sam from despairing, and sometimes even that had almost not been enough: during his recent hunts, Sam had become more and more reckless. It was one of the reasons he'd broken contact with Bobby, as the older man would have stopped him. But with the slow realization that his beloved brother was really gone forever, Sam hadn't wanted to live. He was aware of the irony that Dean's death was his fault, that Dean had sacrificed himself, his soul, so that Sam could live, but he'd never asked to be the sole survivor. The guilt over his brother's death and his utter loneliness had destroyed Sam's life. Regardless of the horrors of hell, there had been days when Sam would have been almost _happy_ to trade places with Dean.

And now Dean had returned. It was a different Dean, a stranger, but Sam felt that deep down, it was still his brother. Whatever it took to get Dean back, Sam would do it. 

"Dean. We'll get through this, I promise. I swear. Just... whatever happens, stay with me? Talk to me? If you need to... run..." Sam had to squeeze his eyes shut to tamp down his emotions. "Please trust me. If you need me to back off, tell me and I will. I'll do anything for you, only... don't leave me alone again. Please?"

Sam held his breath as he waited for Dean to react. Had he ever been so scared before in his life? 

* * *

Sam still knelt next to Dean's chair, clinging to him. It was so strange, although where he was getting his preconceived notions was beyond him, that a full-grown, physically powerful and accomplished man would be so outwardly demonstrative. But, Sam was still Dean's little brother, so in that sense, he could forgive him almost anything. Dean looked over the features of the ratty room and let Sam finish: pictures older than him hanging crookedly on the walls, light shining from the bathroom door, used cups by the sink, the two beds, only one slept in, Sam's Taurus PT92 on the bedside table.

It was getting to be too much, though, having Sam up against him like that for so long. Dean had grown was used to stretches of isolation on chains or the rack, contact this intimate only being made when he was about to be carved like a Christmas turkey or... worse. Yes, the other's body was human, warm, it belonged to someone he loved. In a way, that was more problematic. Sam should have someone to comfort him who wasn't also the source of his misery.

His misery would increase if Dean had to assert his need for space. And he would, soon. Trying not to be obvious about it, Dean loosened his hold a bit, moved his arm in the hope that Sam would release the clamp of his hand around Dean's bicep. If anything, Sam pulled him in tighter. "I need time, Sam. Please. We'll be... ourselves, sometime, I'm sure of it. But, uh... I need a break. Okay?" He dropped his own hands. "Let's go find Bobby."

* * *

Dean didn't acknowledge Sam's question, but he didn't push him away immediately either. Sam should be glad that Dean asked him to back off. It was a sign of trust, but it almost broke his heart to let go again. Dean said he needed time and they'd be themselves, sometime. It was supposed to sound hopeful, Sam thought, but the vagueness of 'sometime' could mean anything from the next minute to never. Right now, the distance Dean needed pointed to 'never'.

"Sure, Bobby," Sam said as he moved back. "And we should probably get something to eat, too. Would you call Bobby? I need the..." He pointed to the small bathroom and fled.

* * *

Finally, Sam pulled away, agreeing that they should find Bobby. It wouldn't be cool for them to just ditch the guy after he'd helped them once again – had helped Dean reunite with his brother. "Yeah okay, I'm hungry, too. I'll give him a call," Dean answered, picking up his phone. It was a loaner from Bobby. He'd have to find some way to scrape up some cash to repay him.

Sam headed to the bathroom immediately and locked the door behind him, probably to pull himself together. Dean breathed a sigh of relief. If only for a few minutes, he'd have a short respite from the extreme emotions radiating off Sam. As for his own, they seemed to be offsite currently. Dean tried to remember what he might have done before, because based on the way Sam talked to him and that was so physical, he must have been a lot more expressive than he was now.

Bits of things filtered in. Dark, the Impala, the two of them singing – caterwauling. Dean grinned. They were terrible! Sam drunk as shit in a fancy old hotel, Dean nagging at him, and then holding on to him as he puked. The two of them putting down a wendigo. Sam with a Ouija board on the floor in front of him, while Dean, a ghost, pushed the pointer. The next image was confusing – Sam was bawling his eyes out, then he went into the next room and shot a dark-haired young woman. Right. Her name was Madison, she was a werewolf, and Sam had fallen for her... that whole episode of their life became real again. Each time, it was like faint lines in a coloring book were being filled in – vibrantly – along with sound and dimension. Also, a certain knotting in Dean's guts loosened. Sam, and a girl. Of course. He recalled meeting Jess, too, standing there in her Smurf baby tee and boy-shorts – the chick rated a ten, 'what the hell was she doing with Sam?' he'd said at the time, dirty thoughts in his eyes, he was pretty sure. 

Then another set of images, and just as fast he was tense again, maybe worse than before. Sam shot in the arm, the two of them running from cops after a routine salt and burn, different hotel rooms, sewing up Sam's wound, his brother fevered and hallucinating... naked, in a bathtub, no, bed... hard... Dean the same... Sam under him... No!! No, that could not be. Could not. No. Someone in hell had messed with his memories, or planted fake ones. That was the only explanation. Dean dialed the phone with clumsy fingers, and hoped that Sam would stay in the bathroom a long, long time. He sure as hell couldn't look at him right now.

Bobby answered in two rings. "Hey," Dean said. "It'sss Dean. We're... uh... we wrapped it up. Where are you? Is there a hotel bar, or somethin'?" Clearly, he didn't need more. Especially not if they were going hunting. Sam had to be here for a reason – he was on something's trail.

He'd been right and Bobby was downstairs. He didn't sound drunk, but then he had iron guts. Kind of like Dean used to. Standing up, Dean weaved a little, glad Sam wasn't there to see him. He shouldn't have had so much, but how was he to know he'd turned into a lightweight? How wrong was that? Kind of like how now he had to pee – it ran through him like he was a girl. "Hurry up in there," he called out. "Bobby's waiting."

* * *

Sam felt sick as he locked the bathroom door behind him, but as soon as he knelt before the toilet he knew that his stomach was empty, and he wouldn't achieve any more than dry-heaves. He stumbled to his feet again and splashed cold water on his face. The cracked mirror above the sink showed him a pathetic creature with red-rimmed eyes, so he used some more cold water, hoping his feelings of utter despair would go away together with the tears.

Then, another thought hit him. The Dean out there in his room was so different from the brother Sam loved. Bobby had sworn that Dean was the real deal, no demon or shifter. But Sam had only Bobby's word for it. A wild surge of hope rose in Sam's heart. What if Bobby was wrong? What if Dean was possessed? It would explain why he acted so strange. Surely, Sam could drive a demon from his brother! Wasn't that was all his fighting with Ruby was about?

It took only a few seconds for him to make up his mind. After years of hunting, Sam didn't rely on his duffel alone to hold his supplies. There was a small silver knife and a flask of holy water in his sponge bag. Sam dug them out after drying his face. He was nervous as hell as he stepped into the bedroom again, but determined to see this through. He had to get his brother back!

"Dean," he said, hiding the flask and knife behind his back. "There's something I should probably tell you..."

* * *

Finally the bathroom door opened, and second later Sam walked out, announcing that he needed to tell Dean 'something'. His hands were held strangely behind his back, and Dean was immediately on his guard. "Okay... tell me what?"

* * *

"That I'm sorry about this," Sam splashed the contents of the small flask into Dean's face and jumped forward, trying to grab his brother's arm so he could graze him with the silver knife and make sure he was human.

* * *

Something cold splashed in his face. Blinking in surprise, Dean caught sight of the flask in Sam's hand. What? Instinctually, he knew what was coming next. He'd done the same on countless occasions. Sam's silver knife flashed but Dean jumped out of the way just in time, stumbling into the table.

"What the fuck? You think I'm possessed? A monster?" It hurt that Sam didn't trust him, didn't know him. Apparently Bobby's word was less than nothing to him. "Fine, go ahead, cut me. Bitch." Dean shoved his sleeve up and held out his arm.

* * *

"You... you're different..." Sam hated himself for it, but he had to make sure. "Of course, one would expect that going to hell changes a person." It sounded lame even as he said it. "It's... well, nobody has ever returned, and I... What if you're not Dean, and you turned Bobby as well?" Sam couldn't look at Dean when he said it. "You yourself have taught me to not trust anyone. I... I want you back so much that... that..."

He shook his head at himself, but moved closer to Dean. As gently as he could, Sam traced a thin line with the knife on his brother's arm, barely drawing blood, but blood it was, and he hissed with relief. The urge to touch Dean, to hug him again, was so strong that pulling away hurt. Sam only succeeded in fighting the temptation because he feared, knew that Dean would reject him again.

"Thank you." Sam forced himself to smile. "Jerk." _And thank you for this, too,_ he thought, _for calling me 'bitch' again._ Suddenly, his heart felt a little lighter.

"So, where's Bobby?"

* * *

Dean held still, resisting the urge to pull away from Sam's grasp. He barely felt it when Sam nicked him. First mark back on earth, he thought.

Then it was done and he rolled his sleeve back down. "Wanna try rock salt, too? Consecrated iron? Get it all out of the way." He raised an eyebrow, not really expecting an answer.

"Bobby's downstairs. There's a bar or something. Hey, you have my knives and guns and stuff? I feel kinda naked." 

* * *

The brief moment of Dean being _his_ Dean was over so fast that Sam wondered if their affectionate 'bitch-jerk' exchange had taken place at all. Probably not, he told himself bitterly. Then again, if it had happened only in his imagination, the sarcasm his brother gave him wouldn't hurt so much...

There was a phone call he had to make. It was the last thing Sam wanted, but there was only one, _person_ , who might have an inkling what's going on. Why else would Ruby have told him to come here in the first place? First, he had to get rid of Dean, and his brother had just offered him an opportunity at being alone for a few minutes.

"Your things are in the car," Sam pulled himself together and focused on Dean's question. "It – She's in the lot. Wait," he snatched the keys from his jacket pocket and held them out for Dean with a big, fake smile. "Why don't you go say hi to your baby? I'll join you at the bar in a minute."

* * *

Right! 'His baby'. How could Dean have forgotten about his pride and joy? And she'd been left with Sam all these years – make that months. "Oh, yeah!" he couldn't help grinning. "A man and his baby shouldn't be separated." 

Dean grabbed the keys, still on the same silver bullet keychain, from Sam. After a quick detour to the bathroom, he hurried out of the room with a, "Go find Bobby, would you? Meet you outside." 

* * *

After making sure that the door was firmly closed behind his brother, Sam dialed Ruby's number. She answered after the first ring and already knew that Dean had returned, although she had no clue how. Since Sam didn't have much time – Dean would explode if he found out about the call – he told her to cut it short. She suggested they meet up later, and to his surprise, he agreed. Sam's head was swirling, and Ruby seemed to be the only one willing to listen. It probably was a mistake, but he really needed to talk to someone, and she'd never betrayed him so far.

Sam felt guilty and confused when he left the room. This wasn't how he'd imagined the reunion with his beloved brother. Carefully schooling his features into a mask, he hoped he was ready to face Bobby and Dean, then he entered the bar. 

Bobby had just finished his drink and looked at him questioningly. "Where's that brother of yours?"

"Saying hello to the Impala," Sam replied.

"Then I suggest we go meet him there. There's just no chance that boy will let go of his favorite toy unless we drag him off her."

Bobby had a point. Dean was probably happier to have his car back than his brother. Nodding at his old friend, he waited until Bobby got up and paid, then they left the hotel bar together.

* * *

Talk about no party in his pants, Dean felt a little tingle in anticipation of getting his hands on the long, sleek black-and-chrome lines of the Impala. His since he'd been 20 or so, it was the one solid constant of his childhood. Dean's countless hours of sweating and tinkering below her hood were some of his most relaxing. He'd even rebuilt her from the ground up, after a semi truck had totalled her like a pancake. That was... wow, less than two years ago. It seemed like forever. 

Ah, and there she was. It was just like being reacquainted with a long lost lover. Better. Baby wouldn't rag on him and give him a bitchface for not performing the way he was 'supposed' to. Dean ran his hand up the back fender, the quarter panel, up and over the roof... Okay, maybe he should stop stroking it in public. 

He rummaged in the trunk, after his .45 and maybe a knife or two. Well, no, he didn't have to rummage at all. Sam had reorganized everything into a series of neat trays to display and hold every weapon and gadget. It kind of pissed Dean off that his brother's system seemed to work so well. He seemed to recall a similar set-up in the back of Dad's truck. Whatever had happened to that thing? Maybe Sam should get his own wheels. He did feel better with the nickel-plated pearl-handled pistol tucked into the small of his back. Unlocking the driver's side door, Dean sighed in nostalgic pleasure, parked his butt on the familiar leather seat and turned the key in the ignition. 

Some horrible howling harmonies blasted from the stereo. What the hell? Dean couldn't decide if it was country or some of that god-awful Indie rock shit and immediately went for the volume control. Something wasn't right there either. Sam had replaced the cassette player-and-five-presets with some weird piece of plastic with a ton of buttons, and what looked like a headphone jack. Really, Sam? His brother would answer for that. Dean figured out how to shut off the noise, and listened closely to the engine's rumble. No knocks or pings. He'd have to check her out in minute detail later.

After some minutes, Sam and Bobby approached, and Sam got into the car to sit beside him. "What the hell is this, Sam?" Dean pointed at the _thing_ currently embedded in Baby's dashboard. "I asked you to take care of her, not douche her up." 

* * *

"It's an iPod jack," Sam replied surly at Dean's question. If he'd thought the day couldn't get any worse, he'd just been shown that it could. Knowing his luck, it would probably get _much_ worse by the time Dean was done with him. Not surprisingly, the next caustic remark followed immediately.

"Dean, I thought it was my car..." Sam stopped himself. As frustrated as he was, hurting his brother was the last thing he wanted. Then he saw Dean's sneer and wondered if Dean could even be hurt. What the hell – 'hell' being the operative word – was wrong with Dean? 

Out of options, Sam bit his lower lip and looked at Bobby for help.

* * *

Dean followed the line of the thin white wire plugged into the jack, pulled it out, and tossed it with the silver device it was attached to into the back seat, huffing. "Get in." He had no idea where they were going.

"Well, before anything else goes, or comes back from, hell, maybe we'd better get a game plan together," Bobby suggested, more to Sam because he hadn't moved yet.

Dean was rooting through the cassette tapes he'd found in the glove box. "Yeah, fine. I still haven't the slightest how I got out. Sam says it wasn't him. Demons?" He thought of something. "What about Ruby? Is she around?" The bitch had made a deal with Lilith for his contract and nothing would please him more than to send her back to hell – again. 

* * *

Watching Dean pluck the iPod from the Impala, Sam felt smacked in the face. Dean treated him as if every single one of Sam's moves since Dean had died had been wrong. He wished he wasn't there, wondering how his brother would react if Sam simply grabbed his bags and left, but of course he couldn't do it.

Well, eventually Dean would be the one to leave: as soon as his brother found out about Ruby, about what had happened after the hellhounds had ripped Dean apart, and about their incestuous relationship. At this point, Sam couldn't say which of these acts Dean would find the most revolting, but his brother sure as hell wouldn't want Sam anywhere near him. Sam could probably count himself lucky if Dean didn't hunt him down and kill him.

Ready to jump at Bobby's suggestion to put a game plan together, Sam was interrupted by his brother asking about Ruby. He swallowed, tempted to answer that he hadn't seen Ruby in a while. It was the truth, they'd only talked on the phone recently, but Sam wasn't sure that Dean would consider that as not having 'seen' her recently. Also, she'd told him that, as far as she knew, demons were not involved in Dean's return to earth, which was important information he needed to share with Bobby and Dean. On the flip side, if Sam told them what Ruby had said, they wouldn't believe him – her – anyway because, hey, demons lied.

He realized that he'd taken too long to answer a straight-forward question. Dean was glowering at Sam and Bobby didn't look too impressed either.

"I called her," Sam finally admitted, casting his eyes down. "She said she doesn't know anything." He ducked his head and waited for the explosion.

* * *

"That blond bitch didn't know any better than to stay dead, huh?" Dean growled. "Still trying to convince you she's good, Sam? I'll admit she fooled me. So much the fool." He'd deal with her later. Sam knew how to contact the demon, which told Dean there was something, some arrangement between the two of them he was going to have to bust up. 

"Well, not you, not Ruby, so who pulled me out? Any ideas, Bobby?" Dean ducked down a little to see past Sam to where their friend and mentor stood on the sidewalk, clearly impatient to get moving.

"Nothin'," he said, "But I know someone who might be able to shed some light. A psychic, if you're willing to try that." 

"Can't hurt," Dean decided. He was just itching to hit the road and _drive._ Maybe being back in their standard spots would ease the awkward weirdness between him and Sam. "Where to?" He listened to the directions – it would be a few hours' drive, Bobby would follow. 


	2. Chapter 2

Sam wasn't thrilled by the prospect of spending several hours wedged into the tight space of the Impala with his brother, but there was no way he could refuse. Besides, he had to know who or what had yanked Dean out of hell, if for different reasons than why Dean and Bobby wanted to know. It was the only way for Sam to find out why his brother had changed, what had affected his memories to the point that he couldn't even remember the love for Sam.

"I'll just go grab my gear," Sam excused himself and returned to the hotel room, sighing with relief when he wasn't followed. He called Ruby again while he threw his meager belongings into his duffel and told her that their meeting plans had been cancelled. It took Sam by surprise that he immediately answered her questions as to where and why they were leaving town. Till now, he had never trusted her. She was a demon, after all, and it scared him how fast his allegiance with the 'good' side seemed to crumble. How was it possible that he suddenly found himself in league with a demon against his own brother and one of his few friends?

There was a healthy measure left in the JD bottle on the table. Sam frowned at it, then decided that some Dutch courage was exactly what he needed right now. Forcing the remaining whiskey down his throat, he coughed. So, he'd gotten used to drinking more over the past few – four – months, but never in such a large dose in an instant. Well, screw it. Desperate times called for desperate measures, he told himself as he stumbled down the stairs.

Bobby had already driven off when he reached the parking lot. Dean greeted him with a disapproving look that changed to openly pissed off as he must have smelled the booze on Sam's breath. Plonking down in the passenger seat, Sam gave his brother a wide grin.

"Come on, man, nothing of that sourpuss face. Aren't you happy to take her for a spin?"

* * *

"Yeah, I guess so. Listen to her purr!" The rumbling of the 327 V8 engine was soothing, that was true. And now that he had Metallica blasting in the tape deck, it was even better. Almost like old times. Sam got in and slammed the door, the fact that he was totally not into this plastered on his face. Speaking of plastered, Dean could smell fresh JD on him, but didn't comment. It's not like he was exactly sober right then. About time Granola-Boy manned up.

Half a second after Sam closed the door, Dean stomped on the gas and peeled out, flipping a U-ie in the middle of the street. Three cars had to squeal their brakes to avoid him, and he wanted to laugh out of exhilaration. Damn that felt good. Following the landmarks he half remembered from coming into town, some from following signs, he made it to the interstate without incident. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sam white-knuckling it in the passenger seat. He had one hand braced on the dashboard, the other curved around the door pull. His right foot was pushed tight to the floor. Could be from Dean's driving, or maybe his guts were tossing from however much booze he'd downed back in the room. He'd better not hurl in the car. Snorting inwardly, Dean pulled onto the on-ramp and put the pedal down.

While his memory, past and short-term, were fuzzy, Dean would have sworn Sam had told him Ruby was dead (or dead again) 'for now'. But yet he'd been in contact with her. That was the first order of business. "So... Ruby. What's she up to? And why have you been talking to her? After she sold my ass to Lilith, why would she help you? Or... huh... you're seeing her for... other reasons." Sam's psychic abilities hadn't come up yet, and he doubted they'd just gone away by themselves. Ruby had encouraged Sam to use and strengthen those skills, and without Dean around to keep her off, he could only imagine what sort of treachery she'd been up to.

* * *

For the first time since Dean had returned, he looked happy, Sam thought. _Really_ happy. It was the exact opposite of the feeling rising from Sam's stomach. Determined to let his brother enjoy his freedom, Sam braced himself and tried to ignore the roiling. He'd never been sick from Dean's driving before – quite the opposite, in fact: as a youngster, Sam had often been car-sick when their Dad was driving, but never when Dean took over. Well, he'd better get used to it. Now that Dean was back, and apparently the Impala was the only thing he really wanted, Sam would do anything possible to give his brother at least _that_ pleasure!

As soon as they hit the highway, Dean's focus returned to his passenger. Of course, he asked about Ruby, as if she was the first thing he could think of. Sam wasn't sure how to answer. Eventually, Dean would draw the whole story out of him, but right now Sam was afraid that Dean would kick him out of the speeding car if he found out the whole truth. He decided to settle on a compromise.

"When she returned and offered her help again, I thought she might still be useful, you know, in getting you out. Somehow. So I thought having her number would come in handy. I talked to her now and then while I was hunting demons down to see if I could get hold of your contract." Sam looked at his brother. "I couldn't give you up," he said defiantly. 

"Anyway, she helped me a few times, tracking them. I was going after a group of demons in the South when they suddenly changed track and headed here. I asked Ruby and she said something big was going down, but she didn't know what. I came here, next thing I see is you standing in front of my door. So I rang her again and confronted her about who set you free. She doesn't know who, although she heard that you got out. That's all."

Sam stuck his chin out before he continued. "And before you ask again, no I don't know what her agenda is. But neither did you when we dealt with her the last time. So, did Bobby say anything else about this Pamela while I was gone?"

* * *

Based on Sam's overall attitude, no one in their right mind would poke the proverbial bear with a stick. Tough. Dean needed information, and he wasn't scared of his little brother... who was huge and sort of intimidating but not to him. Sam could pout all he wanted. For professing having tried 'everything' to get him out of hell, Dean found himself wondering what that actually involved, for Sam. He'd said something about crossroads demons, which were a higher echelon than black-eyes like Ruby and your average meat-suit stealing scum, not talking to him. They'd banished Yellow-Eyes, for the time being. What else was there?

"Hm, hunting demons. Exorcisms?" Dean had attended and performed several, although Sam was better at it since he had a background of Latin and Dean had to recite it by rote. Sometimes he tripped over the words when things got intense. It was irritating to have to admit that. "Well, there hasn't been a shortage of them since the hell-gate. Not that they ever know much of anything useful." Something was still off. "If she sent you here, then the demons are 'here' and I'm here... Shouldn't we be going after them now? You should have spoken up before we went off hours out of the way." Sure, he wanted to know who or what had sprung him, but that could wait. Probably. "No, Bobby didn't say much. It's someone named Pamela Barnes. From the look on his face, I'd say she's hot. That's all I know." 

Dean was feeling argumentative, himself. Something stuck in his craw. He only hoped this psychic chick wasn't some woo-woo wackadoo bullshit. Unconsciously, he rubbed at the hand-shaped brand on his shoulder. It didn't hurt, but it was alien on his skin. Baby was running in fine form, and he pushed her up to ninety. 

* * *

"Yeah, exorcisms." Sam had no intention of elaborating that Ruby had taught him a few things here, too. The less he said about Ruby – about demons altogether – the better.

As before, he felt the urge to defend himself. "Nobody asked about demons," he continued. "We all want to know who or what raised you from hell, so that's why I didn't mention any demonic activity. They're here, yes, and according to Ruby, they have nothing to do with your return, so let's just go and see that Pamela chick, 'kay?"

Sitting next to Dean was pure torture. He could feel his brother's body heat radiating off him, and it hurt that he wasn't allowed to touch, not even to put a hand on his thigh. Sam balled his hands into fists and resigned himself to stare out of the window and ignore the urge to move closer to Dean.

* * *

"I dunno, Sam. It still seems like too much of a coincidence that they're here and now I'm here, even if you didn't know ahead of time." Dean shrugged, and looked over carefully while keeping one eye haphazardly on the highway, which was a wide, straight ribbon to the horizon. "When we're done at this Pamela's, hunting these bastards down might be the next order of business. Unless something more pressing crops up." Sam was scrunched against his door, just as tense as when Dean glanced at him before, hands in fists now.

"Look... I'm not faulting you, okay? It's good – more than good – to be back. I'm having a hard time adjusting. Time's different there. It was four months here. That's forty years in hell-time. So I'm like, 70." He laughed weakly. "So get me a walker, some Geritol, and Viagra." He frowned. Crap. He shouldn't be bringing up stuff like that. There was also the unsettling feeling that they'd done _something_ to him on the way to the surface. Maybe to counteract what had been done to his body downstairs, so to speak. But Sam could never know about that. It was too disgusting. 

Mind clicking futilely like he was pulling the trigger repeatedly over an empty clip, Dean tried to change the subject. "So Lilith... What do you hear of her? Bobby didn't have any intel, but then he hasn't been in contact with you."

* * *

"Lilith? Um," Sam frowned. "Well, Ruby still wants to see her dead. Otherwise, I haven't really heard of her lately."

The atmosphere in the Impala was tense. Suddenly, Sam couldn't hold back any longer. He had to know what had happened to the Dean he'd spent all his life with before... His mind stumbled. What had Dean just said? _Forty years?_ Impossible! And yet...

"What do you remember from hell?" Sam blurted out before he could swallow down the question.

* * *

God. What could he say? Dean had informally promised himself before walking out of the shattered gas station that he wouldn't burden another living soul with _that_. But Sam... he deserved to know something, didn't he? Dean had left him behind when he died, with no answers, almost no clues. There were texts and lore on Hades by all of its many names, and he'd read some before, out of morbid curiosity. It didn't compare by a million miles. The things that were done to souls, and their bodies... 

He was taking way too long to answer. Sam twitched periodically, restless as always. "I..." Throat suddenly dry, Dean coughed into one fist. "...well. First thing, when I came to there, I was hanging on chains, bloody, dirty. Pulled out spread-eagle on my back, over a vast nothingness. A void. It was dark, and it stank. There was a meathook through my shoulder." He shuddered without meaning to. "I was yelling for you. Again and again. For what seemed like weeks." And that was only the beginning. 

Finally, Dean worked up the nerve to meet Sam's eyes for a second. They were dark. Wide. Shocked horror, yes, and, Dean thought, morbid curiosity as well. After that, he found the road suddenly all-consuming. "After they got me down, that's when it started. Hell is all about torture. Whips and chains have nothing on those fuckers. They try to break you... Every second of every day. However they can. Either by what they do, or by leaving you alone and starving, or bleeding, or whatever, long enough to crack. You're burning, you're freezing, your mouth is cracked from thirst like Death Valley in July. You die, and then it starts again." 

It was pouring out, unbidden. Dean was going to have to stop before he revealed too much. Already, his guts were churning. Be damned if he'd ruin the upholstery! He chanced another look sideways. His brother's face was tinged a little green, too. "I wouldn't let them use you against me, Sammy. Yeah, you're definitely on the radar down there, and they know all about us. So I buried it all, deep, where they could never find it. Never have it. I swear, Sam. Till I dug out of that grave, I didn't remember a damned thing, not growing up, family, the fire, hunting, barely even about dying. They got tired of me asking "Sam who?" and... then they found other things. But that's the way of it." His voice straggled to a harsh whisper. 

"I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to hear this. It's over now."

* * *

The more Dean went on, the quieter and sicker Sam felt. Sure, he'd read all he could find on hell, always with the goal of finding a way of getting Dean out, but of course all the tortures his mind could devise after going through the literature had left him with nightmares of his beloved brother being subject to it. As he found out, the written word had nothing on the account he was given now.

Dean's voice was flat, his eyes locked in a tight stare on the road – and Sam wondered if Dean was actually seeing the road. Dean's grip on the steering wheel and his shoulders were so tense that Sam feared something would break. Literally.

Sam wanted to cry, to scream at Dean, to order him to stop talking, but he couldn't. He needed to hear it, just as Dean needed to get it out of his system. His hands that were already balled into fists tightened even more as he fought the urge to hug his brother, to hold him tight, to promise him all would be well. To keep him safe in his love forever.

When Dean said that it was over now, Sam wasn't so sure. For one, Dean didn't want Sam's love, and Sam refused to accept that _that_ was all over, too. It couldn't be! And as much as Dean probably wished he'd never think of hell again, Sam knew it wouldn't be so simple. Dean had spent what amounted to a lifetime in hell. There was just no way to get up from it and never think of it again. Especially not after having been free for only a day or so.

Then what his brother had said really hit him. _"They know all about us. So I buried it all, deep, where they could never find it."_ So that was why Dean had made himself forget everything – so they couldn't use memories of Sam to hurt him. But... _"I didn't remember a damned thing, not growing up, family, the fire, hunting, barely even about dying."_

"But," he asked, deeply afraid of the answer, "now you do remember? Growing up? Us? What are your memories of... you and me?" Sam clutched at his stomach and held his breath.

* * *

Dean flinched, his entire body jerking once, hard enough to sway the car just a little. "'You and me'. And Dad, and Lawrence, and everything forward. It's spotty, at best. But when people talk about the past, I seem to remember it then." It took him a supreme effort to say the next thing, "I feel like... I _know_ there's something still not surfacing. It... scratches, inside somewhere, like a rat in a cage. Something big." He turned his eyes on Sam, pleading, "Don't tell me. Not yet. Whatever it was, good or bad, I'm not sure I can handle it right now. Unless we get into a tight, life-or-death situation and I _have_ to know, it might be better to let things come back to me a little at a time. Please, Sam."

* * *

Seeing Dean flinch and feeling the car lurch, Sam steeled himself for the worst. It took him a while to comprehend what his brother had said, but then...

Dean had just told him that whatever had been going on between the two of them, he didn't want to be reminded of it until later. Whenever later was. Given his brother's reaction to Sam's earlier hard-on, however, probably equated 'later' with 'never'. Dean had been so honestly shocked earlier, that regardless how much Sam wanted – no, _needed_ – to have his brother-lover back, he didn't have the right to tell Dean. Ever.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise after what Dean had said before, but Sam still felt as if a steel fist had caught him dead on the solar plexus. "I... I'll try," he choked out, his vision swimming. 

"Dean, could you stop... sort of now-ish... I gotta..." Sam began to gag. "Too much JD, sorry..."

* * *

"Shit!" Seeing and hearing Sam start to choke and his chest and neck roll in a reverse-peristaltic motion, Dean's eyes flashed to his side and rear-view mirrors, checking traffic. There was very little, none behind for at least a quarter mile. Braking hard, Dean pulled his baby onto the shoulder of the road, skidding the last hundred yards. "Not in the car!" 

Somehow Sam managed to hold on or keep it in his mouth, but the second they stopped he was out, bracing himself with a hand to black metal, and he lost his guts spectacularly. The smell hit Dean and his already-queasy stomach reacted. Ack! His gorge hit the back of his throat and he hopped out and rounded the end of the car. In a split second, he determined upwind from downwind and turned so he wouldn't splatter himself. 'What a fucking chorus', he thought, joining his brother in gagging and spitting. It was too stupid. A couple cars drove by, and Dean zoned in, hyper-conscious of how conspicuous they were. 

"What the hell?" he muttered, spitting and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He was trying not look, but he could hear – Sam was having the more difficult battle with his guts. Finally he seemed to be finished – empty. "So I guess we're both light-weights now," Dean called. Not that he expected an answer. Sam had been hearing that term since his first beer. Dean himself had built up his tolerance from the age of 14 or 15, stealing their Dad's then buying his own when he could get by with it on a fake ID. It was back to square one with that, too. But he couldn't lie to himself – it wasn't the booze responsible, not halfways. A fleeting memory of his brother, maybe age five, throwing up all over the back seat while Dean bitched and gagged and their dad gritted his teeth and kept driving hit him in the back of the eyes. In fact, the same thing must have happened several times. Yes, it had. 

Head spinning, Dean walked the long way around the car, planting a hip against the front fender. He stopped moving and stood maybe four feet from Sam. Wind thick with diesel fumes whipped by them as a semi passed in the opposite direction. "What a day. First you accost me with a knife, then your cock, and now with puke. Oh yeah, forgot the holy water. Just tell me what's next, huh? I'm tired of surprises already." 

* * *

Already before Dean stopped the Impala, he shouted out, "Not in the car!" – Of course. This Dean wouldn't be concerned about his brother's well-being if there was a threat to the upholstery.

By some miracle, Sam succeeded in holding it down, at the price that when he finally stumbled out of the car, he puked not only through his mouth but some of the vile stuff actually came up through his nose. The spasms seemed to go on forever. As if mocking him, Sam noticed while still retching that, at the other end of the Impala, Dean was also throwing up his guts. Great.

Dean's stomach was the first to settle. When Sam looked up with watery eyes, his brother was standing closer to him, a hip against a fender, looking calm and relaxed, and remarking casually, _"What a day. First you accost me with a knife, then your cock, and now with puke. Oh yeah, forgot the holy water. Just tell me what's next, huh? I'm tired of surprises already."_

For a moment, Sam saw red. He was tempted to tell Dean what was next, that he and Sam had been lovers, that they'd been fucking like bunnies, both in their youth, and also as grown men. He was tempted to tell Dean that before he'd gone to hell, Dean would have been insulted if Sam had _not_ greeted him with an erection after a period of separation – any period longer than a few hours, and sometimes even less would stoke their need.

But Sam had made a promise to himself. He'd keep his mouth shut, if it killed him. He'd do that for his brother. Sam's love for Dean was strong enough – and he'd kept his desires secret for years, so he could do it again. Still, it was all so sudden, and Dean going on about Sam 'accosting' him didn't exactly help. Today, his overreaction could be explained by the booze, and partly by Dean's return. Sam wouldn't have that cover in the future. He'd have to find a way to make this work. 

"Listen," he said, his voice scratchy from vomiting and with a stuffed nose. "Either you shut up about my dick – as in forever – or I'm out of _your_ car and your presence now and riding with Bobby. Your choice."

* * *

That stung, but Dean knew he deserved it. He didn't know why all of a sudden he'd felt the need to provoke Sam. It wasn't lack of respect or true annoyance. They'd teased each other before. Hadn't they? Dean deepened his smirk and wordlessly pushed away from the car. Waiting for an oncoming car to pass first, he got back behind the wheel and waited for Sam. 

He was taking his time. While Bobby hadn't stopped, and Dean knew he had to be ahead of them by now, they weren't without a means of communication. It was as simple as Sam pulling out his cell phone. The idea of his brother _not_ in the car with him was... unthinkable. All Dean had wanted, needed, since his feet hit the ground, was this. This. Something hit him in the chest, a wave of loss augmented by the potential of more of it... Dammit, what, was he going to do, cry about it like a little girl? He blinked hard. To stop the sudden tremors, Dean wrapped his hands tightly around the steering wheel. There was his silver ring, that he'd been buried with. What did it mean? Not a wedding ring. Wrong hand. Surely he'd know it if he was married or something, wouldn't he? 

"Sam..." Dean's words choked him, as did the egg-sized lump in his throat. He coughed and called out the open door. "Get in. I'll shut up, okay? Let's go." They had to catch Bobby up, which shouldn't be too hard considering the beaters he drove, see the psychic, and then based on what Sam had said, there were demons to hunt. There were always things to hunt. 

* * *

"Thank you," Sam said when he finally had his stomach under control again and took his place in the passenger seat. Dean looked uncomfortable, and Sam immediately felt guilty for causing it. Shit, this wasn't going to work by simply continuing as if nothing had happened, as if Dean hadn't gone to hell, and as if they'd never been closer than brothers should be.

Dean started the car, and they drove in silence for a while with Dean concentrating on the road and Sam trying to organize his thoughts and put them into words. 

"Dean," he finally began, "I know you're not into this talking," he indicated quotation marks with his fingers, "thing, but hear me out, please." There was a non-committal sound from the driver's side, but at least Dean hadn't shot him down right from the beginning.

"I can't begin to tell you how happy I am to have you back," Sam continued. "But we need to acknowledge the fact that... _things_ have changed while you were in," he swallowed, "hell. I have changed. You have changed. And right now, I'm totally overwhelmed. It's... I'm not even sure I can really believe that you're here, sitting next to me in the fucking car."

Sam couldn't help himself. He _had to_ reach out and touch Dean's arm, give his bicep a gentle and shy squeeze, afraid that Dean might pull away again.

"You and I, I think we need some time to get used to each other again. To accept that we've changed and that we need to get to know each other again. Think about it. You found my reaction to you strange – okay, I guess, I admit that _was_ strange," Sam squirmed, wondering how he could explain why he considered it perfectly normal to rub up against his brother with a leaking hard-on. 

"Likewise, you're not acting the way I'd have expected from you four months ago."

Sam risked a look at Dean, who was giving him the impression of actually listening, and hope rose in his heart.

"I'm not saying either of us did anything wrong here," Sam said. "Just that we should take the time to acquaint ourselves again. That also applies to hunting together. Think of it as, uh, putting our training wheels back on, only until we know again how the other is thinking and reacting. I trust you with my life," his voice turned fierce, "but I won't risk your life because you don't react the way I expect you to and vice versa."

He gave his brother a tentative smile. "You needn't answer right now, but you'd make me happy if you'd think about this."

* * *

Sam gave him a speech, as "down pat"-sounding as if he'd written it on the fly and processed in his brain a hundred times in the two minutes or so before he'd begun to speak. At first, it did sound rehearsed, but that could have been nerves. Dean's were still strung tight, although something seemed a little better now, since Sam had tacitly agreed not to ditch him and got into the Impala.

More to his brother's voice than the actual words, Dean listened, making a noise of acknowledgment once or twice. He supposed it made sense, that they weren't the same as before. Seeing Sam die had changed him. For Sam to have witnessed the same, who wouldn't come out the other side a different person? It had always been Sam who'd been better able to express his inner workings; he'd never cared as much about following rules and living up to Dad's unachievable expectations, and in that, he exceeded every one of them. Nor did he go for any macho bullshit. It rolled right off him. But as much as Dean ragged on Sam, he'd secretly admired that trait, was sort of... drawn to it. As witnessed here, now.

So when Sam touched him, curling a warm hand around his upper arm and into the muscle through three layers of clothes for a moment, Dean, who had seen it coming, didn't flinch away. The simple gesture resonated that almost childlike innocence Sam still had not entirely lost. Dean felt the pull to reciprocate in some way; he just didn't know how without being lame. A hug was always the best, multi-functional thing, but not from where he was sitting – literally – behind the wheel.

"Training wheels, huh?" Dean tried to keep it light. "Well, I dunno about you, but I reckon I can still kick some monster ass. It doesn't feel like I'm rusty, but who knows?" He shrugged. "Don't need to think about it. I would always want you at my back, Sam. More than any other hunter. That's how we trained, and that's how we worked. Right?" Before his voice cracked again, Dean had to stop. Goddamn these _feelings_. Oh, he'd had emotions in hell. The gamut. All intense. Over-intense, even. But there, no one who mattered to him would ever see or ever know. It was much too complicated, here.

How had he managed it before, Dean found himself wondering. Sam implied – no, flat-out said – that he reacted differently. Even Dean could sense it. He was supposed to be like, cocky and confident, the smart-ass, always in control and never showing a chink in the armor. Well, he'd cracked plenty of times, if just from being too brittle. When Sam died was the most evident example, but there had been the hell-gate, the thing with the shapeshifter, and when Dad died of course, when he'd slammed a crowbar into Baby eighteen times out of sheer frustration and grief.

Now, he was running on fumes. He needed fuel. He needed to hunt. Some good food, not just Bobby's leftovers. Hustle some pool. Flirt with some strange tail. Maybe even get laid after, hell yeah, that had always worked, although the idea of it at this remove, to do it for fun or pleasure, seemed totally alien. He wondered if he even could. ...That wasn't a problem for Sam, at least not physically. But then since Jess died, that boy had been much too celibate for Dean's tastes and... Wait, when was Sam's sex life any of his concern? Hm, had to be just because they were forever in each other's pockets, so the simple logistics of hooking up with someone, leaving with them, the subsequent walk of shame, all that, it was too intensely personal. How many times when they were kids had they been stuck sleeping in the same bed, either waking up sticky or pretending not to hear each other choke the chicken.

And why had that come to mind? Not only that, but Dean was sure he could 'hear' his younger brother's orgasmic cries echoing somewhere in the recesses of his brain and it made him really, _really_ uncomfortable. A second ago, he'd wanted to hug Sam; now he wanted to hit him for no good reason at all, but he wouldn't do that either.

Drawing in a breath, Dean decided the fastest way to dispel the lingering, and unwanted... it had to be his imagination... soundtrack was to drown it out with some talking of his own. Now that was a stretch. "Maybe we should spar, like Dad used to make us do. Have weapons practice. Just for a few days, till we can make sure I'm up to speed. And so I can learn your new moves."

* * *

"Dean, you can kick monster ass. I can kick monster ass. But we need to be able to do it together. I'd never forgive myself if I expect you to move in one direction and get you in the line of my fire instead. I'm not going to lose you again!" 

Dean looked undecided, confused even, but Sam made his statement with fierce intent. "Weapons practice sounds good to me, then maybe a couple of easy hunts before we take on demons." Sam forced himself to shrug. "By now, those that had gathered have most likely dispersed anyway."

Sam wished he knew what was going on in his brother's head. What exactly did Dean remember from his earlier life? He needed to know so he could behave, react accordingly, if he didn't want to freak Dean out. But there was no way he could ask for details without having to explain why he needed to know. The only thing they could do right now was try to get a feel for each other, get reacquainted. Everything else would fall in place, he told himself. As much as it would hurt to not be allowed to touch, to _love_ his brother, Sam was ready to pay the price if only it kept Dean alive and happy.

"So, for now, we should concentrate on this Pamela," Sam resumed. "How far out are we?"

* * *

"What you said before, that we need to 'acquaint' ourselves... It makes it sound like we barely know – knew – each other. Like we're less than brothers." It made him feel less than himself, less than complete. Dean shrugged, echoing Sam's gesture. "Maybe in hell, they took that from me somehow, too. What the fuck do I know? Only, they can't take that! It shouldn't be too long and I'll remember everything. But, you know, for now, whatever it takes." God, but didn't that sound like some emo, poetry-writing pansy? 

Before Sam got the wrong idea, Dean mused, "When are hunts ever easy, or predictable, huh? How many salt-and-burns turned nasty? It's a miracle we never shot each other or something, like a dozen times." Somehow he knew this. "Our instincts stopped us before. They will again." Wouldn't they? If he accidentally hurt Sam, or worse, Dean would find a cliff and jump. Sam had already said something similar, he realized. 

Sam's mind was already on the next order of business. Dean should get his head out of the past... and the gutter, he chided himself. "We're still a couple hours out. Gotta pee already? Old lady!" Ha. Now there was some familiar ground. Teasing his little brother. 

* * *

Now, this was as familiar as it was annoying, Dean winding him up. "Nah, just wondering," Sam replied, irked because he couldn't come up with a suitable reply. That was something he had to get used to again. No way would he let his brother have the final word in the joking-and-teasing department!

"We've always been lucky," Sam acknowledged. "Let's grease up our rusty skills and we'll be back in business in no time." He shifted uneasily in his seat. "Dean, I haven't gone on a salt-and-burn or hunted down, uh, little things, lately, but Bobby can probably help us out. Find a few straight-forward looking cases for us to practice on until we know we're back on our feet as a team."

* * *

What was up with Sam that he kept repeating himself about easy hunts? Okay fine, it had been a while. True. But, didn't he trust Dean at all, to at least want to do things right and get the job done? It kind of burned. After all, he, along with their dad to a degree, had taught Sam most of his skills. Right now, Dean's right hand itched to start shooting at something big and scary, or hack it, or slice it... something. To prove himself. Never in his life had Dean ever had to prove himself to Sam. Only to Dad. He didn't like this particular change. 

He made himself stop scowling. "What have you been hunting, if not easy things? Demons, you said. Not that there's any way to permanently keep them from coming back. What else?" Since Sam wanted to evaluate him, once they got going, Dean felt it was fair to know exactly what Sam had been up to these last four months. 

* * *

This was probably a very bad idea, but Sam wanted, no, needed to trust his brother. How far could he go without losing Dean's trust forever? Especially in the situation they were in right now, where Sam had no idea how Dean would react, he had to make a careful decision as to how much he admitted.

"I've been making good use of Ruby's knife," Sam said. "Trying to hurt as many of those fuckers that sent you to hell and wouldn't listen when I tried to plead with them. So I gave them what they had coming."

He'd see if that would satisfy Dean's curiosity. If not, there were a few more things he could let out about Ruby training him. Sam told himself that there was no reason to apprise his brother of what she'd tried to make Sam do, but what he refused to even consider.

* * *

So. The knife. Ruby had never told them how the thing was so powerful, or what the runes on it said. It was possible she didn't know, had inherited it or stolen it from some other black-eyes. But that only lead to other questions. 

"I've seen it, how it doesn't take much more than a scratch to kill one of them off with that knife. Does she let you keep it, or does she only let you handle it when you're hunting with her?" Dean ground out the last word. It was intolerable to think of that double-crossing bitch with his brother, their heads together over Sam's computer or a book, scheming and planning. Her meat-suit probably got all tingly in his presence. Sam, with _her_ knife in his hand, that was just too close to a euphemism. Bela had come on to Dean but Ruby never had, other than hatefully, which made him wonder. Everyone they'd ever met had had a favorite between them, no matter how carefully they tried to conceal it. That could explain a lot about why Ruby was back already, trying to "help" Sam. 

Dean felt his face twist into what before might have been a playful leer, and now felt insane and wrong. "What else is she teaching you?"

* * *

Sam flinched at the question. Had he actually mentioned that Ruby was teaching him? Or was that a memory Dean had from... before... hell?

"She gave me the knife. And she's helping me deal with my..." Sam squirmed, "psychic... thing." He'd never been comfortable with his abilities, even though being able to move objects with the power of his mind had saved their – Dean's! – life before. 

Sam hoped that Dean would focus on the knife, ask questions like if Ruby had demanded something in exchange for it. Anything else, he didn't know how he could answer – he didn't even understand it himself, so how could he begin to explain his and Ruby's relationship to a brother who'd just returned from hell a stranger?

* * *

"Well, if she let you have the knife, I hope you're carrying it." Of course they concealed their weapons, but someone who was used to doing the same usually could spot them. Dean knew Sam had his pistol and pocket knife just as he did but had seen no sign of the demon blade. The thing was a big as a Rambo knife. 

"So..." Dean flicked out his tongue and licked his lips, slouching lower in his seat. "The knife must have come with quite a hefty price." He left that question open-ended. "Psychic stuff... Nothing good ever came of that, Sam. That bitch could be planning to use you, you know." 

* * *

"It's in my boot," Sam explained. He bent down and pulled the knife from its sheath. "You know, I was surprised that she'd give it up just like that, but she keeps insisting she wants to help." He snorted. "Whatever she considers 'helping'. It isn't that I trust her, but one thing I believe is that she means it, that she really wants to kill Lilith."

Which, as Ruby kept elaborating, would require far more than Sam's psychic powers and the knife. Maybe she would have succeeded in wearing him down eventually: after Dean had died, Sam had sometimes wondered if he fought Ruby's suggestions only as a matter of principle, whereas in truth he wanted to give in even though – or maybe _because?_ – it was suicide. Now that Dean had returned, though, Sam would never give in to her 'offer'.

"I'm sure she's planning to use me, Dean. She's a demon, what do you expect?"

Sam tried to make his voice come out flat and not as shaky as he felt after watching his brother do his tongue thing. 

* * *

"Hhmph. And you're just gonna let her. Well, don't get caught in the crossfire, that'll get you killed or worse. 'Cuz Sam..." Dean deliberately caught Sam's eye. "If you die again, and I don't, I will end myself, do you hear me?" Fuck. Fine, he got it now, why Sam would go nuts up here on his own and team up with anything that might have access to power. It's what he'd done, and look at the price _he's_ paid. That they both had. Even though Sam was acting strange, some things didn't change, like it was the Winchesters, the family business, and that was that. No family, no business being here.

"Now, what is it you're not telling me? She's a he? Or maybe she's in cahoots someone else. What about Old Scratch himself, huh? I mean: Demon – Hell – the freakin' devil... Hello. What do you suppose Lucifer wants in all this? And you know what? I don't think some little knife, even a pig-sticker like that, is going to do much against him." 

That all sounded a bit far-fetched. Hunting wendigos and poltergeists seemed uncomplicated and simple, by comparison. "She wants you. That's what it is." There. He'd said it. Let Sam try to worm his way out of that. 

* * *

"Of course I'm not 'just gonna let her,'" Sam protested. "What do you think I am, stupid?" He gave an undignified snort before continuing heatedly, "And likewise, bro. I'm not staying without you." Sam narrowed his eyes. "If you make another deal because of me dying or anything else, I'll friggin' kill you myself." 

OK, that didn't make any sense, but Sam was already focused on something else Dean had just said. "What do you mean, she wants me?"

* * *

Something about Sam's tone, the quiet ferocity, took him like a fist to the gut. He was on the verge of saying that nothing would take Sam from him again. The sensation was starting to be entirely too familiar. Nothing but a quick burst of pain, then hollowness. What the fuck was he saying?! Was that a prediction? No way was Dean touching that. He didn't want to know. Not today.

To cover it, Dean rolled his eyes. "You can try. And no, I don't think you're stupid. But don't be naive. Duh. Her meatsuit wants your meat. Think about it. She never went for me, so..." He waved one hand distractedly. "Chick demons. Meg, too. They always pick sexy bodies... And use them. Or try." He flipped his eyebrows.

* * *

Dean referring to his, Sam's, body as sexy sent a jolt of desire through Sam. Of course, that didn't mean that Dean found him attractive, but even in this twisted way, the compliment brought a ray of hope to Sam's heart. Maybe everything – _everything!_ – would eventually be like it had been before. One day, Sam promised himself. He'd be patient, give his brother as much time as he needed. Even if it was fifty years, he could do it. As long as there was hope, Sam could gather up the strength to be at Dean's side without touching him the way he yearned to. For Dean, he could do it. Sam's love for his brother was strong enough. It would hurt, but it was the only way they wouldn't have to split up altogether.

Still, Sam didn't trust himself to reply. The temptation of asking Dean if he thought Sam was sexy was just too overwhelming. And, of course, such a question would make Dean more suspicious than he already was. Sam decided to evade the topic and return to what they'd talked about before. One of them dying. He didn't really want to elaborate any more on the painful concept, but there was an occasion he could bring up that might at the same time prompt Dean's memory of how their – sexual – relationship as adults had begun.

"You said not to remind you of things, but since we talked about one of us being left behind," Sam began cautiously. "Do you remember the time I got shot in the arm after a salt and burn and the wound got really bad? We swore to each other that we wouldn't die." He laughed without humor. "Of course, there've been snags, like me being killed by Jake and you going to hell wasn't exactly part of the deal, but you're back now and I have no intention of letting you go again. Or leaving, myself."

Sam bit his lip. "Dean. We watch out for each other. We always have. You're all I have, and I'm not gonna let you die or go otherwise. I swear."

* * *

Dean was quiet for a while. Obviously Sam didn't want to discuss the possibility of Ruby seducing him. That _was_ all kinds of disturbing. Hell had given Dean a whole new perspective on sex, one that Sam wouldn't see till it was too late. It was a useful trick that demons had picked up from incubi, and it was why crossroads deals were always sealed with a kiss. That was binding, just a kiss; full-on sex – and especially if all participants got off – was that much the stronger. The demon partner would be able to read and control her human, and augmented by blood... He did not want to go there. 

In light of that, his, Dean's, past habit of one-night stands and swinging and generally whorish behavior had been insanity. He knew that now. Hunters drew the evil element to them. There was no getting off hell's grid, once on it. That he'd never accidentally screwed a demon-ridden human while on some bender, especially since the hell-gate, beat all odds. 

But before he could ponder on how to warn Sam without coming across as either a prude or a hypocrite, Sam's question started rattling around in the empty places of Dean's memories. There was something different about it. Some of it came across indistinct and fuzzy, growing more distinct as he reviewed it, which was normal, well, normal for Dean right now. Something was missing, or altered, though, he could tell. Some parts of it were like static, others, just entirely void. Like this promise Sam said they had made.

"I'm sorry, Sam. Some of it, yes, I remember. But a lot of it is... Still gone. I... I think I somehow buried memories, so they couldn't use them against me. The promise you say we made, I can't..." Dean knew now that this was so. Just not how or why he'd done it. 

"Anyway, digging up the grave, burning the bones, running, yes. Little bits and pieces of... Digging a bullet out of your arm. Blood everywhere. You have the scar to prove it, yeah? I took you to the Roadhouse. You'd have lost your arm but for what's his name again? Charlie. It's a goddamn shame we lost..." He couldn't remember. The place had burned to the ground. There'd been other friends, right? "Can't recall any more." He swallowed. "How many died?" 

The static in Dean's head cleared for a split second, and he wished it hadn't. Sam had been taking uppers and his immune system had been weakened, the reason the wound turned so bad, so fast. And... If he thought human emotions were complicated now, what rushed up at Dean nearly blinded him. Love so huge and earthshaking he'd swear, it would break him, every part of him. Not just love, 'in love'. Who had he lost, or left behind, that would shatter him so completely to lose? 

"Oh, no no no no..." Not Sam, not that! Were they totally fucked in the head? What the hell else...? Covered in blood and dirt but naked, Sam underneath him, bodies hot, aroused, cumming all over... No!! That couldn't be. It had to be some weird, fucked-up sex dream, or something planted in hell to drive him mad. Dean slammed that box in his head and locked it up tight. 

Just then, Dean's focus returned to the road. Just in time. He had drifted into the wrong lane and was about to drive straight into the ditch. "Shit!!" He wrenched the wheel hard. On his other side was a truck, the driver of which honked and gave him the bird as he barely missed hitting it. Adrenalin roaring in his system, Dean said, "Maybe you'd better drive." 

* * *

For a while, Dean didn't say anything. Sam could almost see his brother thinking. Then, Dean acknowledged remembering some of the hunt that had gone so spectacularly wrong and finally led to them admitting their – unbrotherly – love for each other. That latter part, though, Dean didn't seem to remember. 

"You brought me to Jo and Ellen's, Dean. You saved my life." When Dean asked about the fire that had consumed the Roadhouse, Sam smiled weakly. "Nobody died there. Ellen, Jo, and Charlie were out on a supply run when it happened and Ash was incredibly lucky. His hair caught on fire, but he made it out and dunked his head into the rain barrel." Suddenly, Sam broke into laughter. This was a memory he was sure wouldn't hurt Dean. "Surely, you'll remember that in time. You kept telling him that he looked like a drowned and shaved rat."

Sam caught his breath and continued calmer, "They set up shop close to the old place. It's a larger house with a few guest rooms they rent to hunters and a proper surgery. We've go to go visit..."

He interrupted himself and gave his brother a sharp look. The Impala was wobbling and Dean was mumbling to himself. Sam clutched at his seat while Dean regained control just in time to avoid a head-on collision with a truck.

"That... What the fuck... Dean, are you alright? What just happened?"

* * *

That was stupid, so stupid, to let himself get distracted like that. Sam had been laughing, and Dean couldn't even pay attention. Genuine laughter from his little brother was all too precious and rare. Instead, he'd been zoning out on... He could've gotten them both killed! It had been a near miss. Inwardly, Dean cursed himself. He had pretty much just proven Sam right, that they needed to 'practice' hunting or they'd end up dead by accident.

Well, at least Dean knew now, what it felt like immediately before he got hit with memories, or whatever that was. A sick feeling, nausea, twisting. Throbbing temples. He could push it down, and leave it for another time – or preferably, never – to sort out.

So that Sam wouldn't start in on him again, Dean pulled over for the second time that day. "Sorry about that, man. For a minute, there was some kind of... something. A flash. I don't even know what. It freaked me that hell out. I'm okay, but like I said... you drive." Sam threw the beginnings of bitchface #21 at him. "No, I don't want to talk about it."

"I know you were telling me about the Roadhouse. No one died? That's damned unusual." He could remember the old Roadhouse. "Yes, I remember quite clearly, driving a long way and bringing you there. You were so out of it. So weak. Feverish, delirious. They kicked me out of the room when they treated you. I was scared shitless." He paused. "Tell me again. I promise I'll listen this time. What about Ash, and the new place and all that? Did Ellen ever forgive Dad, do you think?"

* * *

Sam narrowed his eyes. Dean looked anything but okay, but Sam managed to keep his mouth shut. "Sure, I can drive," he said. 

While Dean brought the Impala to a halt on the hard shoulder, Sam repeated his earlier update on the Harvelles and their team. It was clear that Dean had no intention of discussing their visit at the Roadhouse when Sam had been shot, so Sam decide to ignore it.

"Well, the new place is bigger than before. They offer rooms, like bed and breakfast, to hunters who need a break or recover from injuries. Charlie has set up shop and they have a better-equipped surgery now, too. Ellen and Jo... I guess they're still bitching at each other – I haven't been there in a while," Sam admitted. "As for Ash, he has the whole place equipped with state-of-the-art computer technology, WiFi, and all. Probably in order to compensate for the loss of his hair during the fire," he grinned. "Not sure about Ellen and Dad. She hasn't mentioned him, but as I said, I haven't seen them recently."

* * *

"Right, okay. It sounds like they're all doing good. Proper little hunter's haven they've got going on. Those two, stubborn as hell, Jo and Ellen. Ash without a mullet? That's like... cheeseburgers without bacon." He tried to smile. Dean wondered what unfinished business he had with the lot of them. "No one's going to greet me with a shotgun, if we happen to go there, right?"

Whatever anecdote Sam had been telling him earlier, his easy humor was gone, and Dean regretted it. But no use crying over spilled milk. He opened the door and got out of the car, going around to the passenger side. So strange. He'd been so happy to see his baby, and now he was already giving up the driver's seat.

In a minute, they were back up to highway speed. No longer feeling the effects of the alcohol, Dean found he didn't know what to say. He wracked his brain. Still nothing, other the things he couldn't or would not discuss. Before, Dean had kept the secret his dad had laid on him before Yellow-Eyes took him. Look what that had bought him. 

But no, that wasn't entirely true either. He had told Sam, not even half a year later. There was another example of his brother being three sheets to the wind and overly hands-y. Another useless promise extracted, too. But Dean had shoved Sam's drunk ass into his too-small bed and that had been the end of it. It had better be. Dean would never do as Dad had charged him, not even as a mercy killing. There was just no fucking way.

"I suppose you can't exactly go dragging a demon in there," he said instead, in response to being told Sam hadn't been there in 'a while.' That could be weeks or months. Sam hadn't revealed how much or how often he'd been hanging out with Ruby. It was time Dean found out. One more thing was for sure; now that he was back, Sam didn't need that scheming hellbitch anymore. And he said as much.

* * *

 _No one's going to greet me with a shotgun, if we happen to go there, right?_ Sam hoped he had sufficiently suppressed the shudder-cum-giggle that Dean's remark suggested. "Well, um, the last time we met the guys, you referred to Ash as a, quote, 'drowned and shaved rat,' unquote. Although I doubt that he'd pull a shotgun on you, he might follow up with some... _interesting..._ comeback. Then again," Sam sobered up, "he'll probably just be speechless and glad to have you back." _And he'd better not greet you with a boner,_ he ground his teeth.

"Besides, what do you mean with me 'dragging a demon in there'?" Sam bristled at the implication that he was hanging out with Ruby – or even worse: Dean made it sound as if she were Sam's life partner. Sure, he spent more time with her than he himself knew he should, but he was sure he hadn't put it that way when he'd admitted to having contact with her.

* * *

Dean chuckled at the 'rat' reference. That was him, he supposed. Mr. Smartmouth. Maybe it would come back, in time. Something about the way Sam said 'Ash' set Dean's senses on full alert, but he didn't push it. There were more important things right now.

"Come on, Sam. You've 'been in touch' with her. She had to get your number somehow, and you know that no hunter or ally would give it to her in a million years. So what did she do? Track you down?" Wow, Sam was defensive as shit about that! It must be worse than Dean imagined. "You might as well tell me. Because if she just pops in uninvited, I might have to kill her." 

* * *

"Dean," Sam bit his lip. He was squirming in his seat, and of course his brother hadn't missed how uncomfortable discussing Ruby made him.

"To be honest," – great, who was it who recently said that everybody beginning a sentence with these words was about to sell a lie? – "I've no idea where she got my number. I certainly didn't give it to her, you should know that."

Sam threw a quick glance at Dean, not sure he liked his brother's suspicious expression. "Come on. She's always had a talent for turning up in unexpected places. I even changed phones. You may have noticed that my old number doesn't work any longer."

* * *

"Exactly. Which is why I said, 'track you down'. As in, in the flesh. Huh? Not on the phone. So how many times have you met up with her?" Now that he wasn't driving, Dean could scrutinize Sam more closely. The boy wasn't happy about this line of questioning, which meant he had something to hide. 

* * *

"I haven't counted the times we met," Sam snapped. It was an honest answer although he could probably have come up with a reasonable estimate. Still, he was reaching the end of his tether. "I had other things on my mind, like, trying to figure out a way to get my brother out of hell."

Sam forced himself to relax the tight grip he had on the steering wheel. "Does it really matter if we met three or four times?" It had been more than that, way more, but he had an idea how to shut Dean up.

"I can't believe this," he hissed. "Even when the bitch isn't here, she's making us fight. Maybe that's why she called me? Knowing that I'd 'fess up to you," he indicated a quotation mark with one hand, "and how you'd react to that." Sam growled. "Man, if I'd known you'd give me so much flack, I'd have kept this to myself, for sure!"

* * *

"Well, you didn't. Cat's out of the bag now. So to speak," Dean snapped irritably. "She's not making us fight. You know better than to... Pull that psychic shit. Do you really want to become like them? There are better ways, Sam." Why couldn't he understand what implication it has on his soul? There was – still – something pure and bright about his brother but that wouldn't last if he kept meddling with this dark-side business. 

* * *

"I'm _not_ becoming one of them," Sam spat. "Although I doubt that you'd even notice. Hell, you only see what you want to see anyway," he scoffed.

"Tell me, then, since you know everything, and in particular that there are better ways, what is a better way – better than what, anyway? Better ways to get someone out of hell? You sure were more successful than I was – oh, but you don't exactly remember how you got out, do you?"

Suddenly, Sam felt tired. "Look, I've told you everything, but you're just not listening. You think, no you _insist_ you know what's going on with me and Ruby. So why am I wasting my time trying to convince you otherwise? Screw you, Dean. I'm done discussing her with you."

* * *

Well now, here was a familiar-sounding Sam-rant. Dean had rarely been in the line of fire, it had always been their father, who was too callous or driven to care. 

"Screw yourself!" Dean snapped. "Why should I care if you want to end where I just got out from, thanks to... this...? I thought we were done working with demons. And since you ask what do I know? Diddly squat! So fucking tell me. And don't lie! Maybe I've only been back a day but I can tell you're hiding shit. Your tells haven't changed, baby brother." 

Okay, maybe that was too much sarcasm. Dean tried to change his tone to more reasonable. "This is about hunting. It's about out lives now, NOT about shit that's over and done with," Dean referred obliquely to hell, but he knew Sam would get it. 

"And anyway, your methods of getting me out didn't work either, so why don't we just stop this pissing contest over who sucks harder?" There. Let Sam suck on _that_. 

* * *

"I fucking told you!" Sam was close to yelling. "And I didn't lie!" Okay, so maybe he was omitting a few bits and pieces... It struck him that he was omitting a very important part of himself, too, but that was purely for Dean's benefit: his brother had asked him to not enlighten him about the past, but let him recover it in his own time.

Here was a way out. Sam felt guilty for it even before he finished the thought, but he needed to get Dean off his back. His emotions, on top of all his denied love for Dean, were on a roller-coaster trip. If Dean pushed any more, Sam knew he'd snap, and he'd lose his brother, possibly forever.

"Dean," he sighed resignedly. "What I... haven't told you... it has to do with our past. Your and my past." Actually, this was even kind of true: Ruby wanted to have sex with him, where Dean had refused him. So maybe the connection was a little more than tenuous, but Sam managed to convince himself that it made sense. 

"Please, there's nothing to worry about. I'm not doing anything with Ruby." Not right now, or better, not yet – but then, Sam had no intention of ever giving in to her offers and pleas.

"As for who of us sucks harder," a shiver ran through Sam's body when he realized his brother's – surely unintentional – choice of words, "let's just stop fighting. Please, Dean. I only got you back a few hours ago and it seems that all we've done so far is attack each other. Peace?"

* * *

"I– fine. Alright, Sam. Geez, this isn't how imagined it, either, you know?" Dean hadn't really imagined, or visualized, anything. It was more an impression, pulling at him, that he had to get to Sam, to see him, and then everything would be alright again. Obviously it wasn't. He sighed, deeply.

"About Ruby, I'll only say one more thing right now: Demons will use any method to get what they want. If she was going to off you or torture you, she'd have tried it already. So what's left? She'll try to screw with your mind, or with your body, or both. Bitch at me all you want, but I'll say it again. Don't get messed up with her. Please be careful. Please." This Sam wouldn't be bossed or reasoned into listening to Dean; he had to try something Sam wouldn't know how to fend off. Turning his widened eyes on his brother, Dean let them burn. "That bitch can't have you. You're mine... my brother."

Christ, where had that come from? Since when was he so possessive? Okay, he was, but he'd never said it out loud. Sam's body shuddered in his seat over Dean's 'suck hard' wording, which hadn't been intentional. "Yeah, peace," Dean quickly added. Whatever it was from their shared past Sam didn't want to tell him, that, he wouldn't inquire into. Springing it on him could break him. Till the Hell worked itself out.

"How about I make it even more peaceful and take a nap? You okay to drive? Not jonesing for sleep or anything?" He was already settling himself lower in the seat, leaning it back a little – these older cars didn't move so far in that direction, and trying to find a comfortable way to lean his head on his arm against the door so he wouldn't crick his neck or put his arm to sleep. Dean didn't know if he'd sleep or not; he could fake it easily enough. Right now, he needed to get his shit together, fast. Alistair... the pit... how they'd questioned him about Sam over and over for months with white-hot pokers and evil hooks and all the things they'd done and he couldn't remember a damned thing then, or now. He'd locked it away, safe. No one was getting to whatever was in that box, not even Dean.

So why did he have the almost undeniable urge to rest his head in Sam's lap, stare upwards along his forever-torso and the underside of his long, pointed jaw, the equilateral triangle of his nose and pronounced cheekbones and brow ridges framed by his too-long dark hair and call it all his and home?

No, no sleep for Dean.

The Impala rumbled on down the road.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam fisted the sheets and bit down on his lower lip in an unsuccessful attempt to stifle his groans. Dean would tease him endlessly about 'entertaining the public' again, as he called it when guests in adjoining rooms banged on the thin walls of the cheap motels to shut them up, but Sam knew that his brother loved it when he turned vocal.

Right now, he couldn't keep the noises down, even had he wanted to. He was lying on his front, sweating and leaking into the sheets as Dean worked him open. Sam moaned wantonly when his brother's fat glans entered him. He pushed back, urging Dean deeper, but Dean pushed his butt down with his hands, pressing his erection into the mattress, not allowing Sam to impale himself on Dean's dick.

It was a deal they'd made some time ago: if Sam wanted to go without prep, Dean would dictate the speed. The older brother had insisted that Sam might injure himself if he got carried away in his passion. Sam was sure that Dean enjoyed making him wait, but he didn't deny that it was an incredible turn-on to be held in place while Dean slowly fed his slick cock deep into Sam's twitching body.

"Oh god," Sam moaned when Dean slid all the way in smoothly, spreading him wide open. It didn't hurt, but he felt so full that it never kept surprising him how his brother's dick could fit inside him. "Please, Dean, move!"

Holding still was an effort, but Dean cooed into Sam's ear that he'd make it worthwhile. He hadn't promised too much: already with the first slide in and out of Sam, Dean dragged himself slowly and delicately over that spot inside Sam's body that never failed to make him lose it.

"God, yes, yes! Oh Dean!" Sam's dick soaked the sheet with pre-cum as he rubbed it frantically against the mattress, working his hips like he was the one doing the fucking, and not his brother.

In what felt like no more than seconds, Sam reached the point of no return. With Dean's cock massaging his prostate and the firm hands on his hips pressing him down, he stood no chance.

"Yes! YES! Deeaannnuuuughhh!" Sam's body turned into jelly as he shot and shot and shot.

* * *

It was just their luck that the stupid motel only had rooms left with one queen-sized bed. As of yet, Dean had no money of his own. Sam had insisted that his credit card was close to maxing out, and he needed to conserve something for gas and food. So here they were, two large men in a bed that really, was too small to fit Sam properly by himself. 

He should have just slept in the Impala! But no, Dean kept telling himself to stop freaking out, that they'd done this lots of times. As kids and teenagers, they'd rarely had the luxury of their own beds. This had continued well past each of their growth spurts, as John found no reason to insure privacy or comfort. Those things would just coddle them and turn them soft. 

_Soft_ was what Dean was not. As if the closeness and heat of another person wasn't enough – _natural physical reaction_ , he told himself – Sam had woken him. Not deliberately, no. But clearly, though Dean kept his back to Sam and inched as close to the edge of the bed on his side as he could, Sam was in the middle of an erotic dream. He could have simply gotten up, out of bed. But again, he had his own situation. Dean was 'up' alright. He felt like a kid with his first boner. Scared, ashamed, maybe a little proud, since it proved his dick still worked after all, and so, so horny. He wasn't going to risk Sam waking up and noticing. 

Not only did Sam pant and grunt and rock the bed as he writhed around, those motions became rhythmic and then Sam moaned his name, not just once. At first, questioning, then deeper, his tone so low it vibrated the whole bed in its resonance. Dean recognized desperation when he heard it. The extreme need. His own body wanted to thrust and release, just hearing it, and it should have turned him off. This was a dude! His brother! But here he was, trembling with arousal. Dean tried to tell himself he hadn't been aroused, not willing, not that this was exactly willingly, in forty years and he couldn't help it, but that rang false.

The mattress lurched. Sam had flipped onto his belly and was full-on humping. "Uh uh uh uhh! Yeah, uhhh, nnnngh, Dean! Oh, Dean... Oh god, Deeeeean... Dean!" Anyone who'd ever experienced a sexual release first- or second-hand would know it for what it was. The groans were soul-rending, uninhibited, loud, tightening Dean's balls till he wasn't sure he could hang on. If that wasn't enough, when it hit he could hear not only Sam's gasping and swallowing, but he'd swear, the spurting of Sam's seed as he came and came. The scent hit almost immediately, thick musk and bitter-tang. 

Sam didn't even wake up. He flopped over onto his side, thankfully away. Dean could feel his sweaty back against his own. Once Sam's breathing evened out, Dean slipped from the bed, dashed to the bathroom as quickly as he could with the pole in his boxers, and turned the shower on cold. 

* * *

When the sound of the shower trickled through his subconscious, Sam was out of bed with Ruby's knife in his hand before he was even awake. The shock hit a fraction of a second later. The running water was legit; his brother had returned. That's when the real shock set in: Dean, in his current state, was a homophobe, unaware of the intense sexual relationship the Winchester brothers had shared – and Sam had just cum off in his sleep. In the same bed Dean had been in, thanks to their less than rosy financial situation.

Swearing loudly, Sam knew that this was possibly the worst thing that could have happened. Dean didn't trust him, had already accused Sam of sexually accosting him, and now Sam had confirmed his brother's fears by having a wet dream. On the other hand, the dream had been predictable – and to some degree, probably, unavoidable. Dean might refuse or be unable to recognize the sexual tension between them, but Sam felt it in every cell of his body. The pull was irresistible, and he cursed himself for not taking care of it earlier behind the locked bathroom door.

Now, there was an idea. What was his brother actually doing in the shower? _No!_ Sam immediately pulled the emergency brake on this train of thought. _Don't even think about it!_ However, his dick didn't seem to get the message. How this was even possible after the hard release he'd had only a minute ago, Sam didn't know, but it took all his concentration and then some to will his erection down. He wouldn't have managed it except for the image of Pamela's burnt-out eyes, but that memory definitely put an end to all his fantasies.

Having dealt with this most urgent problem, Sam pondered that Dean wouldn't appreciate finding his little brother in soaked jogging pants – which Sam only wore in order to keep Dean from freaking in the first place. He rummaged through his duffel and found a slightly worn but cum-stain-free pair. After wiping himself clean with the soiled pair and putting on the reasonably fresh one, he discovered to his utmost relief that at least the top sheet had survived his dream without a mess. Sam threw the semen-soaked sheet in the corner of the room and made up the bed with the former top sheet. They wouldn't use the blankets without it – he shuddered at the thought what they were likely to have absorbed over the years.

After taking care of this, Sam sat on the bed and waited for Dean to finish his shower. In his mind, he was running through every possible explanation, hoping that his brother wouldn't decide to spend the night on the bathroom floor wedged between the door and the toilet. With this new Dean, anything was possible.

* * *

Dammit, his stubborn hard-on did not want to go down, not even when exposed to freezing water. Now that things... worked... Dean's previous level of horn-dog seemed to have returned to 'adolescent'. He'd been in there almost 15 minutes already. No matter how much icy water he let run in a deluge over his crotch, which effectively shrivelled and wilted his dick, Dean could feel the inherent chemicals still thrumming through his veins. If he didn't take care of it, chances were good that he'd be the next one coming off in his sleep. 

Keeping his voice down, because a stream of profanity erupted from him over this predicament, Dean slowly turned the temperature control from frigid to warm. It looked like soap or shampoo was as good as he was going to get, for slick. As soon as it was no longer a popsicle, his cock rose and thickened, filling out with thready pulsing blood vessels and it's distinctive pouty, upturned head. Hissing, Dean grabbed himself around the base with his left hand and stroked the thick length with his right. Fuck, how had he forgotten how great sex felt, and all this was, was his own hand? He didn't dare move too much or he'd slip, but Dean was suddenly hyper-aware his how his lower body needed to flex and thrust. Since he couldn't, he was shaking again in effort to be still. It only took a dozen or so pulls before he shot against the tile wall, his jaw open and tongue swiping at his own lips, the hand previously playing cock ring rolling his balls through their spasms, milking out every drop. 

Done, empty, Dean slowly came back from the need-to-get-off haze. God, he was disgusting! Only his second day back and he already debased himself. Like some animal. Like a human. It didn't matter what others did, he should have better control, knowing what the ugly side of sex was. Dean yanked the tap's handle back around to cold and stood there till his fingers and toes were blue. 

It wouldn't do to get hypothermic or otherwise make an ass of himself. Dean came to that realization and reluctantly got out. Still shivering, he dried off on the scratchy towel and dressed again in his boxers and tee-shirt, which is what he'd gone to bed in. He hoped to god that Sam was asleep. He'd rather sleep next to him in a cum-coated bed than face him right now. Somehow, Sam would know. Before, it had never bothered him, that Sam could see in his face if Dean wasn't bragging outright when he'd gotten laid or whacked it. This was no longer part of his agenda. No way. 

Besides, there were other issues to consider now. The psychic chick had located his rescuer by touching the hand-shaped brand on Dean's shoulder and said it was an angel. As in, from Heaven angel. Dean had serious doubts such a creature existed. Probably a demon or some such, masquerading as one. Still, they needed to locate and question the thing. Then there was the Ruby problem. And hunting in general. So Dean definitely had things to keep his attention focused elsewhere than between his legs. 

Taking a deep breath, Dean shut the bathroom light off and opened the door. It was dark in the room, mostly, only enough light filtering through the thin curtains to let him find the bed without tripping. He felt silly, creeping around like that. Still, he moved slowly onto the bed and lay down, again curled on his side, back to Sam. 

* * *

Sam became only aware that he'd been holding his breath when he released a sigh as Dean slipped out of the bathroom and lay on the bed next to him with his back to Sam. This was awkward; hadn't his brother seen that Sam was up, sitting on his side of the bed? Or was it that Dean was telling him without words that he didn't want to talk?

Although Dean was breathing calmly, Sam could feel the tension radiating off him in waves. It set his teeth on edge, and there was no way he'd spend the remainder of the night pretending that nothing had happened.

Of _what_ had actually happened, Sam knew only a part: that he'd had a wet dream was a fact he wouldn't deny. But Dean taking a _looong_ shower in the middle of the night? If Dean had wanted to grant Sam privacy while he cleaned up the mess in the bed, he could have just sat on the toilet and waited. The 'old' Dean – from before they'd found each other as adult lovers – would not have let Sam get away without a snarky remark. About the 'new' Dean, Sam wasn't quite sure, but the shower was ridiculous. Unless it served as a cover for something else. 

Whatever instincts Sam had told him that it was the 'something else' that had kept Dean busy in the bathroom. His brother had not been simply waiting while Sam stripped the bed. The next question was how to deal with the situation now. Well, there was only one way to go, namely start a conversation and see how far he'd get.

"Dean," Sam whispered. "I know that you're up. I'm sorry for waking you. It's, uh, well, not something I wanted to share with you, but I had this dream..." He felt his brother tense next to him and wondered if Dean would hit him if he told the truth what the dream had been about. Maybe a little lie was in order here. Only to protect Dean, Sam told himself.

"See, there was this hot chick..."

* * *

Oh, for Pete's sake! Sam was going to try that?! Such a liar. He should just keep his trap shut. But then, on the other hand, who knows... There could have been a girl, or two or three, or... 

Yeah, right. Sam's mouth mustn't be wired to his brain very well, then. 

"Really?" Dean asked in his most innocent voice, not moving. "A hot chick, huh? Yeah, it sounded hot. Pretty interesting. Was her name 'Dean'? 'Cuz that's what you kept repeating." 

* * *

"I-- _What?_ Shit!" Sam's mouth fell open. Yes, Dean had been in that dream – who else could make Sam cum so hard? – but had he really called out and repeated his brother's name? "That's... not..." he stammered. What could he say? Dean had explicitly told him that he did _not_ want to know, so there was either lying or shutting up. Lying hadn't worked, but it was too late to shut up now, too. 

"Dean," he said in a small voice. "Could we please put... this... aside and never mention it again? You know what, why don't I sleep in the car tonight. We'll get you a credit card tomorrow and have separate rooms from now on, okay?" 

Sam was relieved that his brother wasn't looking at him. Still, he could almost hear him thinking – of separate planets rather than separate rooms only.

* * *

Seconds ticked by while Dean lay quietly. He wasn't a total asshole – he knew the wet dream wasn't Sam's fault. "Aw, hell, Sam," he finally said into the almost-darkness. "It happens, even at your – our – age. Just... Take care of things. You know. So it's less likely." There was some vague wisp of remembrance below the surface of Dean's consciousness that he himself had told Sam at a young age to jerk off more if he wanted to avoid the embarrassment of jizzing his sheets in his sleep. "I think I'd rather not know about the hot chick, though. Just go to sleep. You don't have to bunk in the car. Unless you want to." 

Sleep. From what he remembered, Dean hadn't done a lot of that at the best of times, living on about half the hours a normal person needed. He shifted a little, crossing one ankle over the other. Sam wasn't sleeping – he hadn't moved; who knew what was going on in his brain. "My own credit card is a 'must'. For everything, not just motels. Tomorrow, I'll get on that. And... I can hustle, or I assume I still can. We should make sure, before I lose any cash, cuz I'll need to borrow some from you to start, even twenty bucks. If you have a pack of cards... Or we can try a game of pool, tomorrow or some time?" How comfortingly normal, for them, anyway, those things sounded. 

Despite the amount of stupidity earlier, between Sam calling out Dean's name in the throes of his dream-sex and then Dean himself acting like some virginal fucktard about it, he felt almost comfortable now. Maybe since the tensions had been cleared, in _that_ way, if nothing else. A room of his own? That was unheard of, unless he was on his own hunt. "It's a waste of money, really, something we rarely have a lot of. Unless we'd have to share a bed again, one room's fine with me. Maybe you haven't had to lately, I dunno, but we resorted to squatting a lot, right? In places with no electricity or running water sometimes...? Sharing a motel room beats that hands down." 

* * *

Sam laughed nervously. "You're right, of course. If I, um... take care... of things, this shouldn't happen again." He was surprised as well as relieved that Dean's reaction was so good-natured – he even made a joke about not wanting to know about the 'hot chick'. Sam sobered. Maybe Dean thought there had indeed been a woman involved, and he feared it might have been Ruby? The less said on the topic the better! 

"I'm not used to having you around anymore. Well, I already told you that I missed you," Sam said warmly. "And you know, what you just suggested, go out for a beer and a game of pool sounds great. Just like old times." 

* * *

_Like old times._ Dean wanted to snort sarcastically but stopped himself in time. Was such a thing possible, now, after everything? Well, it was like they said, Dean reflected: Fake it till you make it. Sam so badly wanted his brother back, whatever that meant for him. He'd said it a hundred times already. 

"Yep. Just like old times. Beer and pool," Dean echoed. Man, he was forever slow to answer; Sam was going to think his brain had rotted. He sat up and punched Sam on the shoulder, although he pulled it. "Fine, dumb-ass. Go to sleep already." Smirking, he lay back down. 

As soon as he faced away again, Dean's smile faded. Fine, he'd faked it. It was like being in someone else's skin, he guessed. Maybe it would get easier. 

* * *

"Thank you," Sam said, not concerned by his voice's sudden hoarseness. This Dean might be a stranger, but Sam could still read him – parts of him. For example, that part that told him that his brother's 'just like old times' was a pretense. It didn't even hurt Sam, quite the opposite: the mere fact that Dean considered it worth faking made Sam's hope flare up and burn brightly. 

The same held for the punch: Sam interpreted it as a message that Dean was trying to not get as much physical distance between them as he possibly could, that although he was still alienated by Sam's body, he'd make an effort to accept it. Just as, likewise, Sam had promised himself to keep his intimate urges and feelings away from Dean. 

He felt warm and moved. They were both looking after each other – that hadn't changed. Sam smiled as he lay down again, careful to keep his distance, but confident that he and Dean would be fine. Eventually. He kept holding on to the thought until he fell asleep.

* * *

A gray morning filtered through the curtains when Sam opened his eyes. Next to him, Dean was snoring softly. It made Sam's heart burst, and for long minutes, he simply lay there, watching his brother sleep. A miracle had returned Dean and Sam couldn't get enough of him.

He slipped out of bed as silently as he could, and got dressed. Even a quick pee – behind locked bathroom doors, of course – didn't wake Dean. Sam smiled fondly. The coffee he'd find at the motel would be awful to the point of undrinkable, but he was sure Dean would appreciate the gesture. Then, after coffee, they'd go somewhere for breakfast. Sam's heart skipped a beat at the prospect of doing all these _normal_ things together. It was during these moments that he'd missed Dean most; he'd often looked up from a menu waiting for Dean to order first, and then realized that Dean would never order a meal again.

They'd meet up with Bobby for a short planning session. The older hunter had stayed behind at Pamela's place, promising the psychic that he'd look after her for a few days. Since 'Castiel' wasn't really a clue they could work with, they needed to decide whether to focus on the angel nevertheless or round up a few demons and see what they had to offer by way of information.

But first things first. Sam snuck out of the room, found the vending machines, and got two cups of whatever pretended to be coffee. When he returned, he halted in front of the door, wondering for a second if he'd only dreamed that he'd gotten his brother back. Struck by sudden panic, Sam unlocked the room and stepped inside.

* * *

When Dean woke up, it was morning, evidenced by enough light to see by. Sam wasn't on his side of the bed, or anywhere in the room. Dean got up to use the bathroom, dressed quickly, and slid his gun into his waistband and his knife into his boot. A quick look out the window showed him the Impala was in the parking lot, so Sam couldn't be far, unless something had nabbed him, and Dean wasn't going there. Not knowing what to do next, he sat down on the bed again, hand absent-mindedly curling and uncurling around the edge of the blanket.

In all of yesterday's craziness, he hadn't thought to program Sam's current cell number into his phone. He could hotwire the car, but that seemed unnecessary. So far, anyway. Dean decided that he'd wait until a few minutes before the designated check-out time, if Sam hadn't returned yet by then, before stealing his own vehicle. That was, if he could sit around that long. He was hungry. Although he didn't have money to buy food, there was usually an emergency stash hidden in the Impala somewhere. 

* * *

"Hey and good morning to you." Sam tried to not let his smile become too wide, but he couldn't suppress the happy grin. Well, he was happy that Dean was back, and besides, his brother's look was directed at the cups in Sam's hands, not his face.

"I'm afraid that the quality of motel coffee hasn't improved during your absence. It's the same battery acid as ever." Sam felt tempted to add that some things never changed, but thought better of it. His relationship with the new Dean was fragile and he wouldn't risk compromising it with a feeble joke that could be turned back on him.

"I was thinking of breakfast after packing up here, and discussing our plans after filling our stomachs. But if you'd rather stay or talk first, that's fine with me, too."

* * *

"Hey." Dean took in his brother's posture, light step, and shining face and saw that Sam was happy this morning. He gladly accepted the coffee, battery-acid brand or not. "Thanks, man." Yeah, it was pretty rank but he was alive and it was caffeine, so he wasn't complaining. 

"Dude, breakfast!" Dean answered when Sam offered the alternatives of that and 'talking'. He remembered his favorite lines from before, like 'no chick flick moments' and wondered how Sam even had the balls to suggest it. He had to know Dean wasn't into it. The little shit would probably pout, so Dean tried to mitigate his knee-jerk reaction for food instead of feelings. "Neither of us has eaten in almost 24 hours. Aren't you starving?" Hm. He narrowed his eyes. "We're not that broke yet, are we?" 

They'd shared a room – and a bed – in the interest of conserving cash. It was too early in the day to hustle. "I was craving bacon like a pregnant woman craves ice cream," Dean added belatedly, grinning. "We can talk about things on the road, huh?" He took another sip of the sorry excuse for coffee. Disgusting, but he kept drinking it. It was good to have something to do with his hands. 

* * *

As soon as Sam saw the narrowing of Dean's eyes his own followed suit. "I didn't mean we should talk as in pouring our hearts out, man, but discussing what we're gonna do next. However, my stomach happens to agree with you, so breakfast it is. At least if we survive this sludge," he finished darkly and shuddered when he downed the dregs of his coffee.

"We have enough money for a day or two, room, gas, and food – that is, if you get your pregnant cravings under control. Then, I have a new credit card waiting for me two states over. You can have it once we pick it up; that's why I want to go light on the one I'm using right now." Sam smirked. "So that I won't have to ask my older brother for every beer I want because mine's maxed out."

Something else came to his mind. "Do you need anything else? We're fine for guns and equipment, but how about socks and stuff for you?"

* * *

"Uh..." Well, thank god Sam wasn't going to probe him about his _feelings_. Dean breathed a sigh of relief over that and took another gulp of the swill calling itself coffee. 

Clothes. And stuff. He almost wanted to blush, that Sam showed the level of caring and concern to where he asked Dean if he needed anything. The two of them in a Walmart, in the men's underwear section, picking out boxers? Even the same over shampoo or deodorant seemed too intimate. Okay, now he could feel the pink heat in his cheeks and forehead. Dean coughed, trying to stall. 

He croaked, "It's true I only have the clothes I woke up in. This is the third day... They're probably getting more than a little gamey." He had nothing of his own. "Well, shit. I don't even have a toothbrush. I used one of Bobby's spares but didn't think to pack anything. I dunno, I just thought..." It didn't matter what he had 'just thought' – it was how it was. Averting his eyes, Dean told his brother, "I'd appreciate if you could loan me a little money, and I'll pay you back. Unless you want to smell my B.O. and bad breath, I really could use a few things." 

Shifting from foot to foot, Dean chewed on the inside of his cheek. Goddamn, he hated feeling helpless more than anything. 

* * *

"Dude, even if we didn't have the money to spare, give me a few more days with you in the Impala, and I'll be ready to do almost anything to get you clean clothes!" Although Sam was aware that he needed to guard what he said, this was too good an opportunity to miss. If Dean couldn't laugh about this, he stood no chance of hunting with Sam again. In the past, there had been too many dire situations that had only been saved and diffused by their, sometimes admittedly weird, sense of humor. Furthermore, Dean didn't trust Sam already. If he had _any_ memories of before hell, his suspicions would skyrocket if Sam didn't jump at this comment.

A look at his brother sent Sam's emotions into pure chaos. Dean was blushing all over the place, which wasn't... really... Dean. It looked cute on him, and that was the last thought – and image – Sam wanted to have in his mind. It also made Dean appear vulnerable, which he shouldn't be. Sam wanted him to be strong and fierce, just as Dean himself would feel extremely uncomfortable being vulnerable... which was probably why he was blushing in the first place. Sam wanted to hug him and reassure him that it was okay, but that would make it everything even more awkward than it already was.

"Let's go have breakfast now, and then you can go shopping while I meet with Bobby. How about that?"

* * *

It was true, what Sam said. Dean laughed. "Yep, I'd be so ripe you'll want to salt-and-burn me. Truly vile. And since we're talking about stink, no microwave burritos for you!" Dean grinned and held up his hands in the international sign of surrender. Sam could dish it out – could he take being ribbed in return?

"Sounds like a plan," Dean answered, confirming the breakfast-shopping-Bobby agenda. "I'm driving." Since he had nothing to pack, he leaned against the door frame and watched Sam gather up his things. It didn't take long, two minutes, tops. 

Like the previous day, it felt awesome to be in the driver's seat. Dean held out his hand for the keys. 

* * *

Sam snorted. He hadn't nuked a burrito in months – since about the time when Dean had died. The thought stuck in his throat. Was this a subconscious token of respect for his brother? It didn't matter. Dean was back, and Sam would be happy to live without burritos for the rest of his life.

"Deal," he said. A quick glance at the room ensured that he'd left nothing behind. Sam handed the keys over, making sure that their fingers didn't touch. "Let's get this show on the road."

* * *

"Abso-fucking-lutely." At that moment, Dean's stomach rumbled agreement. He started the car and put her into reverse, backed up, and peeled out of the motel parking lot on to the main drag, a four-lane street in what appeared to be not a huge but not exactly small town. Funny, he barely remembered any details about having arrived there the previous night. But then, he'd had a lot on his mind, and the ensuing events served as a block, too. 

Scanning for likely diners, Dean remarked, "I can't believe they sent Pamela home without keeping her overnight. I mean, the wounds were more or less cauterized, but still. Lose your eyes in a routine seance? I don't know that I want to go anywhere near these angel fucks. Not without a lot more knowledge." Dean glanced sideways over at Sam. He seemed fairly relaxed, alert, empty coffee cup in one hand. "I guess I forgot to mention the handprint till then." 

That shoulder was away from Sam. Even now, he recalled how the... brand... had heated up when Pamela fitted her smaller hand over the shape of it, and then more just before her screams started. He'd been doing that macho BS when she hit on him and Sam one minute; in the next all their eardrums nearly shattered and 'their' psychic fell to the floor, maimed for life. "Angels or whatever, they mean business. Unless she's wrong and it's another grade of demon." 

Just then, Dean cut across traffic, making for an old-fashioned, slightly out-of-date restaurant on the far side of the road. 

* * *

"Last time I checked neither one of us was overly fond of hospitals, either," Sam remarked. "Besides, I wouldn't say 'they sent her home'. It was more like 'let me go home or else!' If I were a doctor and had seen her eyes, I'd probably be in a hurry to get this patient out of my ER, particularly so if she insists on leaving."

Sam looked at his brother pulling up in front of the small restaurant. "The... handprint," he said. "Does it hurt?"

Waiting for Dean to get out of the car – he obviously had a hard time leaving his baby after only such a short drive – Sam thought that he wasn't so sure that it was an angel that had pulled Dean out of hell. It could also have been a demon. He'd have to ask Ruby again. Either way, he didn't like the implications. Whoever – whatever – it had been was far too powerful that he wanted to deal with. This was a completely different league than hunting wendigos and vampires.

* * *

"Yeah, Pamela, she's something else. Bobby's going to have his hands full." Dean doubted the she would put up with any coddling, and would demand to be treated as if she were not now blind. Bobby would bear the brunt of her temper and frustration, but pretty much everything rolled off him.

Dean shut the car off but made no move to get out just yet. He took a long sniff of the interior. So familiar, the same olfactory record he'd had embedded his whole life. So much of their lives were this car. It was their transport, their protection, sometimes even their home. He'd gotten laid in the back many times. Nothing made him feel more in control of his life than driving her. But Sam was asking him something.

"Nah, it doesn't feel like anything, not as if I were really branded or even wounded at all. During the seance, the, uh, skin, the hand-shape of it heated up. Not sure if that means anything. Maybe Pamela would have an insight about that, since she somehow knew she had to have a hand on it." Dean recalled where she'd first tried to touch him. Either she'd just been flirting, or she thought the angel had... and apparently this Castiel was a male, whatever else sort of creature he was. Same song, different day. What the hell?!

He turned as much as he could with the steering wheel in the way and took his left arm out of his sleeves, showing the mark to Sam. "See? It's raised, it looks fairly fresh. Fresh as in, if I had been branded by something earthly. I'm sure it will fade in time." He'd examined it on his first day back. What had led him to look for it, anyway? In that gas station, when he'd stood in front of the restroom mirror and lifted his shirt, his torso had looked and felt normal, other than his scars were gone. "When I first had a chance to look myself over," he continued slowly, "I had an awareness that something was there. Not an itch or pain. Just... different. But that's gone now." He wondered if it would come back.

* * *

Sam fought the irresistible urge to lick at the brand on Dean's arm, soothe it, kiss it better. Well, once he imagined his brother's reaction to such a move, it was easy to hold back. "I'm glad it doesn't hurt," he said lamely, yet fascinated by the mark. "It is, however, our most important clue as yet." 

Searching the Internet hadn't revealed much. There appeared to be an angel named 'Cassiel' in the Kabbalah. He was even mentioned to be one of the seven archangels, but there was no biblical reference for him. Furthermore, apparently, this Cassiel was known for 'simply watching the events of the cosmos unfold with little interference'. It did not sound anywhere near what they were looking for. Even if this angel – angels at all – did exist, why would one that didn't interfere pull his brother out of hell? It just didn't make sense. 

"Maybe Bobby and Pamela have found out something," Sam said. "I'm sure they didn't spend the night holding hands comforting each other, but doing all they possibly could to find out more about this bitch."

They sat down at a table in the diner, and Sam flicked listlessly through the menu. He was itching to talk to Bobby and get down to what had changed Dean so much. 

"Anyway, you say it doesn't hurt, and that there was an 'awareness', but that's gone now. Do you feel anything at all?"

* * *

 _Do you feel anything at all?_ Now wasn't that the question of all questions? Dean felt his eyebrows crawling up his forehead. His feelings were weird now. Sometimes muted, like from inside of another room. Sometimes, second-hand – he remembered things, and how he'd felt at the time, but they were 'unreal', too. And then there had been those hits of way overpowering emotion, which unsettled him in the extreme. 

"Of course I feel things..." Oh, crap! His arm! Sam meant that mark, how could he be such an idiot. "Oh, you mean..." Dean curled his own fingers around his shoulder over the top of his clothes. "Right. Well, no, not now. Only right at the beginning. It was like, I dunno, someone's hand was still there, touching me, and like someone was watching me. When it reacted during the seance was the only other time."

Dean lowered his hand and took a drink of the restaurant's version of coffee. Better than the motel's; mediocre. He forced his creaky brain into hunting mode. "I'm thinking, maybe there's some way to... Use it. To track this Castiel. Or, maybe if he gets near it'll do something again." Looking over at Sam, he added, "We should run that by the others." 

* * *

For a moment, it looked as if Dean was going to elaborate on his feelings in general. Sam held his breath, but then his brother realized that Sam had asked about the brand. He listened, nodding to what Dean said until he suggested that they could use the mark to track Castiel. Sam looked up from his pancakes in alarm.

"Track the guy, Dean? Are you out of your mind? Have you already forgotten what he did to Pamela? Do you have a death wish? There's no way I'm letting you do that! At least not before we have far better intel than we have now."

Sam's mind was itching. There was a clue just out of his reach. He frowned in concentration. "Tell me again about all the... weird things that happened to you since you got out. Like, the filling station. This has to be related to the brand." 

* * *

Absolutely, Dean remembered what had happened to Pamela. It seemed disrespectful to say that the sight was burned into the backs of his eyes, however. He just shook his head.

"This Castiel – he, it, whatever – wouldn't pull me out of hell just to off me a couple of days later. Please! And why would I want to die again right away? Don't be an idiot. He must have an agenda, want something from me, want me to do something, I dunno. But do you know what else? He's going to turn up at some point, come looking for me. There has to be unfinished business. We DO need to be ready, so put that super-IQ brain of yours to work, but I would rather go track his ass down than sit around with my thumb up mine."

Dean reached for his coffee again, then shoved a big forkful of pancakes into his mouth. Sam wanted to know what strange things had happened to him. Ha. The strangest was his own brother rubbing a hard-on the size of a Yorkie against him at first sight, but he would rather choke to death on his food than bring that up. Under the pretense of chewing, Dean went over the events of his first few hours 'alive' in his mind.

"Well," he started, "Like I told you, I woke up in the box, dug my way out. I was freaked, all I could think of was getting out of there, being able to breathe. So I didn't notice anything then. After that, I walked to the gas station, paranoid as fuck, sure something was going to jump me at any second, out in the open. I _thought_ something was watching me, but it was flat and open, no trees. No one but me and occasional cars driving by. No one messed with me.

"At the store, I checked if I looked any different. Coulda been 70 years old, for all I knew. That was when I noticed about the old scars being gone. I still have the tattoo, though." He pulled down his collar for a second to show Sam. "When I looked at the brand, that was when it felt like someone else's hand was there. Then this loud, piercing noise started, like at Pamela's yesterday, only much worse. Like... a whistling teakettle combined with a jet engine. I started throwing down salt lines in front of the windows and doors, because I didn't know what the fuck it was. But it got so loud I was sure it would blow out my eardrums and I had to stop to cover my ears. After maybe twenty seconds, all the glass in the place shattered into little pieces." Dean drew in a breath, remembering how piss-your-pants scared he'd been. "Nothing else, though. I got to Bobby's, and there were no other weird feelings or supernatural incidents since." 

* * *

"I dunno, Dean," Sam said. "This Castiel must be a very powerful guy to pull off all this crap. I'm sure you're right that he has an agenda, but it may not include me. And, as much as I love you, I also like the use of my eyes, and I'm not exactly a great fan of being showered with exploding glass."

He sighed. "You wanna know what that 'super IQ brain' of mine thinks? It's scared. It tells me that we should leave it to Castiel to find us – to find you, that is, if I have any say in it, and I seriously hope you can convince the guy that I might be useful to have around."

Sam swallowed. With all the awkwardness between them since Dean had returned, he wasn't sure if his brother would even consider him useful, much less convince an angel of it. Dean had made it more than clear that he didn't want Sam's sexual attention, and that he didn't trust him. Ruby wasn't the only issue standing between them, and Sam was sure that _she_ wouldn't go down well when it came to angels.

* * *

Oh. Well. In all of this, Dean hadn't considered that Sam would feel like he might be excluded from anything having to do with Dean himself. It also wasn't like his brother to display anything even remotely bordering the realm of insecurity, not since the whole psychic kids thing had been resolved. "Look," Dean began, "right now, we don't know for sure if he wants anything, or what he wants. Maybe _someone_ decided that my contract was invalid, or that my sentence was served, and that's it. He pulled me out, done deal."

He could understand Sam's insecurities, he really could. If their positions were reversed, he would be scared to death that Sam had only just returned, only to leave or be taken from him again by some 'higher power'. And Dean had less to offer – he knew that. Sam, well, he possessed the full range of hunter skills as well as computer hacking and, loathe as Dean might be to admit it, Sam could be useful as a double agent, with a proven 'in' to the demonic element.

"I get what you're saying," Dean continued, not sure how express this. "But let me tell you this: No one, and nothing, is going to tell me that I can't have you with me, whatever I'm doing. Castiel can go to hell if he thinks he's taking my brother away, or splitting us up. Fuck that. Maybe I'm only human, but let him try!" Slamming his empty coffee cup down for emphasis, Dean stared hard into Sam's eyes. "Don't even go there. We're a team. That's it."

Okay, maybe this was a bit much. It was all speculation, so far. He tried to calm down, shifting in his seat and slouching down. "So we'd better get going on those training wheels." 

* * *

When Dean made his point about not leaving Sam and not letting anyone or anything split them up, Sam didn't know what to say. It was Dean, his Dean, fiercely loyal and forever at his side. Yet, when Sam opened his mouth to reply, it was the very same Dean that shut him up, the Dean who'd always refused to discuss emotions.

_"Don't even go there. We're a team. That's it."_

Sam was sure that whatever Dean had in mind as 'there' didn't include their former sexual relationship. Still it sounded final, so final that Sam felt a painful lump in his stomach, and yet he was aroused, alone by being close to his brother. This couldn't go on. Maybe a hunt would take the edge off, disperse his nervous energy. It was worth a try. If it didn't work, Sam knew he'd be in deep trouble with Dean sooner rather than later.

"Let's go talk to Bobby. Maybe he got news for us and if not, I'm sure he can point us to a hunt."

* * *

"Good plan." Dean stabbed the last bite of food with his fork and shovelled it into his mouth. "You about ready?" There was just one problem, and he hoped he wasn't blushing again. His little outburst seemed to have provoked another... reaction... under the table. The possessive mini-diatribe had his blood up. So to speak. This was so not good. And it wasn't what he meant, not at all, but all that, 'no one is going to separate us'... Was it?

"You pay the check, I've gotta hit the head," Dean managed. The multiple layers of clothes were going to come in handy, so long as he could keep his tee-shirt pulled down far enough. Why the hell hadn't he buttoned up his flannel? Dean slid out of the booth quickly and spun away, hurrying to the restroom. If Sam came looking for him... He had to get his stupid boner under control, and fast. The place seemed to be empty. Going with gut instinct, Dean turned to the nearest wall and bashed his fist into the cement block.

Shit! Pain exploded in his first two knuckles and white-hot shocks shot up his arm. That fucking hurt! Effective, though. Dean cradled his now split knuckles for a moment, took a few shaking breaths, and went to run his hand under cold water. He wasn't bleeding too badly from the thin, broken skin, but it stung. At least it took care of his other problem.

* * *

Watching Dean eating, licking his lips – it was getting to be too much for Sam. Not a second too early, Dean excused himself. Sam stayed behind in a daze, wondering if the bulge he thought he'd glimpsed when his brother was leaving the table could actually be what it looked like. _No, it couldn't be,_ he told himself. In the best case, it was a piss hard-on, unless Sam had imagined it in the first place. It didn't seem to matter to his dick, which remained stubbornly erect.

The waiter arrived with the check and Sam paid, then looked at his watch. What was Dean doing in there that was taking him so long? His mouth turned dry when his brain suggested that Dean was doing exactly what Sam intended to do as soon as his brother had left the restroom. Suddenly, he had to know!

Sam was breathing hard when he opened the door and stepped into the tiled room. The sight of his brother stopped him short and took immediate care of his not-so-little problem downstairs.

"What the hell happened?" Sam shouted urgently as he raced to Dean's side and took in the bleeding knuckles. The room was empty except for the two of them; at least, Sam couldn't see or hear anyone in the – unlocked – stalls. Had a spirit or a demon attacked his brother?

"Are you okay?"

* * *

"Yeah, Sam, I'm alright." Dean pulled his hand back from under the water. It was numb with cold now. "Well, I dunno. I guess maybe I freaked out for a second so I punched the wall for an instant reality check." He jerked his chin in the direction of the cinder-block wall behind him where some of the light green paint was now scraped off. Kind of like how the skin was scraped off his knuckles. "Worked like a charm."

Dean kept his eyes turned down, or for sure not directly on Sam. If he looked at his brother again, he was going to get caught up in Sam's deep emotional turbulence. And... what if that happened again? Why would those protective feelings lead him to respond in a sexual manner? It didn't make any sense. "Well, I'll leave you to it..." He turned to go.

* * *

"Wait. Let me see." Sam reached out for Dean's hand and pulled it toward him, ignoring his brother's reluctance. The split skin of the knuckles were oozing blood and they were already swelling up. "We should put ice on that," he said. "I'll get some on the way out. Come on."

Sam let go of Dean's hand and pulled a wad of paper towels from the dispenser. After indicating that Dean should wait in the car, Sam put on his best face and succeeded in wheedling a paper cup full of ice cubes from a waitress.

In the Impala, Sam improvised a bandage and wrapped it around his brother's injured hand. Dean looked uncomfortable, but Sam decided to speak nevertheless.

"Promise to call me if you... freak again. Or better, how about I stay with you until you're really settled." He chuckled nervously. "Of course, I'm not suggesting I hold it for you while you're taking a leak, but I'd wait in front of the stall." 

Sam swallowed. "I mean it, Dean. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Even if it's such small fry as scraped knuckles. Next time, it could be a demon." He wasn't surprised that Dean was maybe seeing things. Hell wasn't something you could just wipe off your mouth and ignore.

A part of him hoped that Dean would not agree to have his baby brother watch over him, but Sam would do it anyway. It would make it way harder to hide his desires, but as the incident in the restroom had just shown him, apparently Dean needed a keeper. At least temporarily, until he got used to being back.

"Can you drive with that or do you want me to?"

* * *

Dean allowed Sam to look his injured hand over, giving a short nod to the offer of getting ice. They'd tended each other's injuries from the time their dad had first taken them hunting. This should be no different. Should. Wasn't. Dean's breath hitched once and he escaped outside. 

It didn't get easier when Sam fussed over him again, in the Impala. The ice was cold, at least, and stung in his wounds while Dean stared straight ahead and tried to ignore – again – the stirring between his legs. He wasn't going to hurt his Baby, and nothing else was available. Sam's half-joking suggestion of following him around so closely that he _hold it for you while you're taking a leak_ made Dean's gorge rise and his dick twitch. Dammit! He was hyper-aware of Sam's eyes on him again, his unique scent, the too-close proximity. It was too much! As soon as the make-shift icepack was secure, Dean removed his hand from Sam's grasp. 

"You don't need to hover and play nurse-maid with me. Or babysit me. I mean it. And I'm driving." Wrangling his keys out of his pocket, Dean started the car. He supposed a better explanation might be in order. "It wasn't... I didn't see or sense a demon or anything else not human. I'm not jumping at my own shadow, either. It was more like memories coming back. Stuff I'd rather not think about. Or talk about." Dean glared sideways, the patented 'back off' look. He backed out of the parking space, and hit the road. 

* * *

"Okay, fine." Sam tried not to snap at his brother because, of course, nothing was fine. Dean pushed him away and voiced once again that he had no intention of 'talking'. And that he didn't want to be reminded of anything. At least, he hadn't accused Sam of sexually molesting him again, but they were back to square one.

"Just drop me off at Pamela's place while you go get what you need," Sam said resignedly, refusing to look at Dean. Not that Dean would notice this as he was avoiding Sam, too, his eyes focused on the road.

* * *

Sam was pouting. Now he was hunched against the passenger side door, showing Dean his shoulder and the back of his head. Dean regretted the necessity of having to shut him down, but being in the car with him, even for a few minutes with Sam's eyes and hand and attention all on him amounted to claustrophobia – and this fucking unexplainable arousal. There was no one Dean could talk to about it, even if he was so inclined. He frowned, imagining asking Bobby for advice about it. The man would probably think he was cursed, hexed, or possessed – except they already knew Dean wasn't – or he'd simply tell him off.

How the hell was he going to live through this – literally? During a hunt, Dean never wavered, rarely got distracted. Oh, things could get ugly and dangerous or they'd be wrong about how to kill the monster sometimes, but he and Sam had always pushed through and saved the day – and likely each other's lives. But Sam was so... distracting! And disturbing. If his head wasn't in the game 100 per cent, it could mean their lives. 

Sam had expressed this the day before. At the time, Dean had been busy telling himself – and Sam – that could never happen. Deny, deny. A plan started forming in his brain. A convoluted, messed-up plan that could very well land him back in hell the second he executed it... but ultimately, practical. Once he thought of it, he couldn't see any other way. So, fine, he'd have to run on an empty stomach for a while till he got used to it; he knew it was wrong on so many levels. But, how else was Dean supposed to keep Sam by his side and not hating him? The only question was if he could go through with it. And, he was going to have to find a time when they were alone with some downtime and seclusion on their hands and not in the middle of a hunt to bring it up.

A grim smile on his mouth, Dean found a way to distance himself just a little, as well as tweak his brother. On the edge of town was a Walmart. Pamela's was still a 20-minute drive, two small towns over. "Nuh-uh," Dean said. "We're here now. You can wait in the car. Or go to the sporting goods section to pick up ammo or something. Or first aid stuff. Or... Hell, you know better than I do, what's needed. And I'll do my thing. No point in making an extra trip. So what's the budget?" 

This was turning into a stop-and-start kind of day. Before Sam could protest, Dean had pulled into the extensive parking lot and shut the engine off. 

* * *

So he was stuck with Dean for now. At least Sam was explicitly uninvited – was there a term like ex-vited? – to join his brother in the clothes department. The thought alone of Dean choosing underwear was too much. Sam fumbled the credit card from his pocket and held it out to Dean without looking at him. "I think there's about 250 or so left before it's maxed out. I have enough cash for a motel for another night, so knock yourself out. We're good on ammo and other supplies. Oh wait," Sam forced himself to grin. "We're out of Jack. So why don't I get that while you look for what you need?"

Dean grunted something and left. Watching him walk, the way he moved, bow-legged and yet with the grace and subtle strength of a feline predator, made Sam's dick swell painfully. Yes, he'd get the booze, but first he needed to take care of something else.

Thankfully, the restrooms were located at the entrance so he didn't have far to go. He was alone in there, thank goodness, and it only took Sam a couple of fierce strokes until he was cumming all over his hands, the image of Dean under him so deeply burned in his mind that his eyes watered at the idea that they might never have this bond again.

Dean had returned from hell, but it felt as if Sam's personal hell had just begun.

* * *

Dean grumbled under his breath. "Pamela had one thing right: Grumpy. PMS much?" The small outburst was only for his own benefit – Dean made sure he couldn't be heard. He wasn't sure if Sam was calling him an alkie, or whether he was more or less saying that Dean drove him to drink. Either way, he didn't find it humorous. Plus, he hated shopping. Especially alone.

Without a backward glance, Dean left Sam to his trip to the liquor-store add-on and proceeded inside. After being greeted by a Smiley-sticker-wielding granny who was older than god, he picked up a shopping basket and made for the men's department. Even in Walmart, $250 wasn't an extravagant budget and he meant not to use it all, since the Impala was such a gas-guzzler. Not that anyone had better say that about her in his hearing. He picked out the cheapest socks, because they were always getting ruined anyway in mud, swamp water, or whatever knee-deep ooze of the week they invariably had to wade through. Then, some boxers, a pair of sweats, pajama pants, three tee-shirts (AC/DC, Led Zepp, and one emblazoned "Orgasm Volunteer" for old times' sake), two flannel shirts, three pairs of jeans, a gray-green Henley. He looked at a rack of hoodies printed with graphic designs, remembering fondly how Sam used to always wear them. Most of his selections were draped over his arm, and while not all that heavy, it was clumsy. He was going to need a duffel or something, too. 

Deciding to put a pair of jeans and the uglier flannel back, Dean crossed a few aisles to the health-and-hygiene section. After a quick look around, he took a detour for shampoo, hair gel, deodorant, toothbrush and toothpaste, and shaving stuff – disposable twin-blade razors as the good ones were pricey. Then he scooted back to the first aisle, now abandoned, for condoms and lube, which he shoved to the bottom of the basket. There was no reason for a good-looking 30-year-old man to be all flustered about that, but he was. God, what if Sam spotted him? He'd either pat Dean on the head like a good little boy for being safe, glare at him for being oversexed, totally and anticlimactically ignore it, or who knew? The nature of Sam's errand would probably keep him outside, once he'd bought the booze.

Next, Dean found something like a gym bag that would fit his gear. It was half off, which was good, since he'd picked up more than he'd really intended. When they were kids, Dad had made them shop at Goodwill and other second-hand stores. Brand new Walmart clothes would have been a luxury. Feeling a little guilty, Dean tossed the pair of sweatpants on the shelf at the end of the aisle, even though they were only $8.00. 

He had to stand in line for what seemed like forever. Why did these places have twenty check-outs and only have four of them open? The bored-looking clerk with bleach-blond hair and too much eye make-up who scanned his items looked up at him with a ready smirk when she got to the lube, then did a double-take and blushed. Well, first time he'd gotten that since he's been pulled out of the pit. It actually made him feel pretty good. Even though he wasn't interested, he supposed a little appreciation was okay for the old ego. He smiled back. 

It was just over $200 and Dean hoped Sam didn't bitch at him for it. He considered the sacrifice he was willing... No, Dean, let's be realistic. That he was _going_ to make to keep the peace, and decided a day or possibly two strapped for cash wasn't all that equal. If it was a problem, he just wouldn't eat. Anyway, they could probably cadge a meal or two at Pamela's and by tonight, they could hustle up some more cash. 

Outside, and none too soon, because it was too warm in the store and he was sweating like crazy, Dean strode to the car. Sam was leaning against it, staring off into the distance, hip cocked. Probably recognizing Dean's footsteps, he threw a look at his brother and walked the long way around to the passenger door. Huh. Weird, but what wasn't? 

"Did you get the hooch?" Dean threw all his purchases into the backseat of the car and climbed in behind the wheel. He'd sort it later. Their Dad would have given him the sharp side of his tongue for that, but they had other, more pressing business, now. "Any news? No calls or anything while I was in there?" 

* * *

Sam was waiting for Dean at the check-out – until he spotted the condoms and lube his brother was buying, after which he hid behind a column, hoping Dean hadn't seen him. Grinding his teeth when Dean smiled enthusiastically at the clerk, Sam decided to flee. If Dean thought Sam was spying on him it wouldn't go down well, and, besides, the last thing Sam wanted was watching Dean involved in anything even faintly reminding him of sex with anyone other than Sam. Yes, he knew he was jealous and petty, but their situation was difficult enough as it was. Especially since the phone call Sam had just made.

When Dean exited from the store, Sam was leaning against the Impala, trying to make up his mind which details of the latest intel he could share. Given the source of the information, he'd get yelled at in any event.

Apparently, Dean could read his mind. As soon as they were sitting in the Impala, Dean asked him about calls.

"I spoke to Ruby," Sam said evenly, meeting his brother's eyes. "She asked me if we had an update on how you got out. I said no, not sure she believes me, though. She wants to meet up with me."

* * *

Ruby. That bitch. Dean ground his teeth, the lightness of the last few minutes forgotten. "Oh yeah?" He started the car but let it idle and stared as his brother. He also wondered who called who. Sam had 'conveniently' not mentioned that little detail. "Why's she asking you? I thought she was actually good for something, like inside information." 

Who cared if Ruby believed Sam? It's not like he was the one who had to prove himself to her. Dean had refused to be babysat, but it seemed to him that Sam needed one, or a chaperone. He couldn't put it like that, though. "So, are you going to? Maybe I should go along, watch your back."

* * *

"Well," Sam cleared his throat and shifted in the passenger seat. "She hinted that she has intel concerning you and suggested I meet her, um, sort of now." He grimaced. "I don't think you're invited, though."

Bringing Dean to a meeting with Ruby could be awkward, to put it mildly. Not only had Sam's brother sworn to kill her, but Ruby was aware of Sam and Dean's past – as lovers. Sam didn't know how she'd gained that knowledge. He certainly had never told her, but she knew and Sam needed to protect Dean from that. A tiny, seductive voice whispered in his ear that he should take Dean along and let Ruby enlighten him as to what he and Sam used to do in bed with each other, but Sam quickly shoved the thought aside.

Dean levelled his stare at Sam, clearly pissed off. Sam suppressed a curse. "What I meant is that she didn't ask me to bring you along. Of course I won't stop you if you want to come."

* * *

"Hey, I won't crash a party where I'm not wanted. So I guess you can drop ME off at Pamela's. Unless by now you mean she's going to drop in like 'poof!' right here...?" 

This was the opposite of what Dean wanted to do. He wanted to face off with the demon, right next to Sammy, and wring whatever she had of use out of her scrawny throat. "I'm not scared of her, you know. Hope you know what the fuck you're doing. Well, drive or stay?" 

* * *

"So do I," Sam muttered darkly, but loud enough so Dean could hear him. "Know what I'm doing. Dean," he looked at his brother. "I don't like this either, but if she really has intel... we can't afford to ignore her."

He sighed. "Look, I'm switching on the GPS on my phone and I'll give you her number. I'll ask her where she's taking me and send you the coordinates. I have holy water, her knife, my gun. Whatever her plans for me are, I don't think they include killing me. For some reason, she seems to need me for dealing with Lilith. She can't possess me because of my tat. It doesn't mean I'm safe, but I'm _reasonably_ safe. And I swear that I'll call for help and bail if there's the slightest indication of something fishy going on. Well, fishi-er than the whole thing itself is." Sam shrugged.

"She said she'd pick me up wherever I am. Shall I give her a call now?"

* * *

"Oh, 'reasonably safe'." Dean rolled his eyes. "Well, you've been 'reasonably safe' with her before. I suppose." He took out his loaner phone, brought up Contacts, and looked at Sam expectantly. "Fine. Have her come get you. I might have a few choice words for her." 

* * *

_Sure you have,_ Sam thought to himself but kept his mouth shut. Dean was pissed off without Sam adding fuel to the fire. He looked up Ruby's number in his cell and had Dean copy it into his contacts.

"I'll put her on speaker-phone," Sam announced. Then he hit the dial button.

* * *

The phone rang twice before Ruby hit the answer key. The number was familiar. Sam had cancelled their meeting earlier, leaving her to cool her heels in a dump of a roadside motel. "Hello, Sam. I've been waiting. Where are you?"

* * *

Just that little introduction and Dean was ready to tear into the demon whore. But he kept his mouth shut, for the time being. She'd give more away if she didn't know he was listening.

* * *

Sam's hackles were up. After Dean had announced to give Ruby 'a few choice words', his brother was silent now. Dean looked tense and dangerous. Sam took a deep breath.

"Um, hi, Ruby. I'm at the Walmart. If you still want to meet, you can pick me up here or tell me where you are." He paused. "Or you could tell me on the phone, of course."

* * *

Ruby snorted. "We _are_ on the phone, so yeah, I'm going to tell you on the phone. What have you been smoking? I'm like five minutes from you, so I'll pick you up. Got a live one, Sam. We can question him together." 

* * *

If he narrowed his eyes any further, Dean reflected, they'd be closed. He still elected not to speak. It would be better to catch she saying something suspicious before he used it against her. 

* * *

"OK," Sam said curtly. "See you here in five." He thumbed the end button on the phone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is affectionately called, "Bitch/Bitch".

"OK," Sam said curtly. "See you here in five." He thumbed the end button on the phone. It was close to a miracle that Dean hadn't said anything yet. Sam hoped he could make his brother leave before Ruby arrived.

_We can question him together._ If Dean knew what Ruby had in mind, Dean would never agree.

"Look," he said haltingly. "I really don't think you want to stick around. You and Ruby aren't exactly on the best of terms and we might still need her."

* * *

Dean opened his mouth, and closed it again when Sam hung up abruptly. So much for a witty repartee. He pursed his lips. 

"I'm not going anywhere," he stated, looking over at his tense brother. "Ruby knows I'm out. She should expect that I'd be where you are. You have the knife – you can protect my silky-smooth ass, Sammy," he smirked. 

* * *

Pulling into the parking lot – Walmart? Really? – Ruby frowned. Sam was clearly visible within the few rows of parked cars, leaning against that shiny monstrosity of a gas-hog he'd been insisting on driving in his no-longer-dead brother's honor, or some such bullshit. He wasn't alone. Dammit. Dean had forever been the colder, more suspicious, hard-nosed bastard between the two of them. Hell wasn't going to alleviate that. Hardly. 

Sam, though. In his desperation to spring Dean from hell, he'd become, if not exactly friendly and pliant, then at least willing to listen to her. Whether he knew it or not, Sam harbored the desire to use those powers Azazel had granted with his blood. There was no telling how strong he could be, if he'd just get over his hesitancy. So far, all he would allow of himself was exorcisms, with the justification that he would expel the demon without hurting the body. It still took a supreme effort, and wasn't always successful without her help. He could be capable of so much more. 

And, as Dean would say, the bitch was hot. Sam was a tall drink of water that made her current meat-suit feel positively tiny. And he was beautiful. Smooth skin, upturned, changeable eyes, lush, naturally multi-shaded hair, a constellation of small, dark moles on his face and arms. From what she's seen of his arms, he was hiding a body to kill for under those layers of loose clothes. There was so much she could do, if her body could seduce him. 

"Sam," Ruby greeted him through her opened window. Her wheels was an innocuous white mid-size sedan, slightly dusty, and he was going to have to fold those long legs in a major way to fit himself into the front seat. "Get in, cowboy." In a significantly colder voice, she grated out, "Dean. Back in one piece?" The insinuation was that maybe he didn't have all his pieces and she could see he 'heard' that, along with carefully veiled surprise over her new body. 

* * *

"Ruby. I assume. How you've changed." He should have considered that she would have changed bodies. This one was petite but curvy with near-black hair and eyes, even less his type than the previous skinny, long-legged blond. His pissiest look firmly pasted on his face, Dean said, "Take good care of him, or answer to me." 

* * *

The sooner they left, the better. Sam looked at his brother from the passenger seat. "I'll call you. Take care."

He got out and folded his body into Ruby's ride, already missing the Impala. "Right. Let's get this over with."

* * *

Sam slammed the car door closed and rubbed his sweating palms on his jeans. Yes, he was nervous, and he wouldn't deny it – which didn't matter as Ruby could probably smell it, anyway. 

Feeling a little less ill at ease when Dean sped off – obviously pissed, as witnessed by the fish-tailing of the Impala – Sam narrowed his eyes and looked at the demon in the driver's seat.

"So, I'm here. Now what?"

* * *

Sam said goodbye to his obviously-not-happy brother, who peeled out of the lot like the high school hood he'd never grown past. There was nothing to do at the moment about the way the brothers moved so cautiously around each other. She could tell: Sam was walking on eggshells and Dean was pissed, about more than just her presence. Hell did mess with human memory. If there were significant holes punched in Dean's, the effects could be... interesting.

"So now, we go finger the piece of scum I have tied up in a basement on the edge of town," Ruby told him sweetly. "Yeah, he's a real winner. A spitter and a biter. Implies that he saw your lover being pulled from the pit. I don't believe him, it's probably third-hand hear-say. But we'll find out." She smiled, put the car in gear, and drove away in the opposite direction than Dean had. First, toss the facts, then throw the bait. "And then you can practice your mind thing. I won't help you... Time to wear your big girl panties." 

Sometimes meat-suits retained some of their previous tastes and personalities. Ruby herself was a woman of few words, and the previous "1.0" version had been terse. This body was talkative; sometimes she had trouble shutting it up. But perhaps it was just as well, because Sam would need a great deal of convincing about certain things. 

* * *

If Sam was relieved after Dean left, his relief didn't last long. _She wants you._ Sam's skin prickled when Ruby looked him over. Sure, he'd never really trusted her and he had no intention of beginning with it now, but was it only Dean's paranoia carrying over to him or was he actually picking up on something new in Ruby's demeanor? Sam bit his lip. This was going to be a walk on a tightrope.

Another thought hit him. Assuming that he could read Ruby to some degree, did this mean that the demon could also read him? How much did Ruby really know about Sam? Would she latch on to Sam's desires for his brother and Dean's denial of them? Suddenly, Sam thought that meeting Ruby without backup was a very bad idea. But it was too late to back out now, and, besides, as he'd told Dean, they really needed the intel.

For now, Sam would play along, but he promised himself that he'd be out at the first sign of something fishy... well, fishier than he expected.

"Who is your prisoner, and what do you think we can learn from him? Where did you find him in the first place?"

* * *

As always, Sam kept himself swathed in layers of loose-fitting clothes and he was careful not to touch Ruby or get too close. In her front seat, they were only a foot or so apart, and less where Sam's shoulders filled up the space approximately level with her head. It was frustrating. The meat-suit, besides her propensity to run on at the mouth, was forever wet between the legs. Most aspects of a body could be controlled – this was not one of those things. In the proximity of a virile young male with his lethal pheromones and simmering broodiness, the body would have been in his lap and dry-humping him. The real Ruby – demon spirit inhabitor extraordinaire – kept the meat puppet in line. 

After silence of a few minutes, Sam began to question her about the impending questioning-and-exorcism. "All work and no play, Sam," she said evasively. 

Not that he'd really ever been, since she'd met him, but Sam was not a happy boy today. The glare he threw in her direction reminded her of the elder Winchester, for all they showed no family resemblance otherwise. 

"Alright, fine!" Ruby snapped. "Just some mook I snagged during when I was spying on that local influx I told you about. The ones sent to try and put your bro back down the second he was topside. They were too stupid, and too late. Found them skulking around his grave site, but he was long gone. That was yesterday." She glanced sideways, taking in Sam's balled fists and forearms so tense the tendons stood out under the roping veins. There was another pulse between her thighs, which she ignored. "I didn't ask him much yet. Secured him with ropes and a devil's trap and set about finding you. As for what we can learn... That depends on how good you are, with asking the right questions... and extracting the answers." She made it sound as if he'd be extracting teeth, or vital organs. In their game, she didn't rule it out. 

In a parody of a smile, Ruby bared her teeth. "So. Sammy. I gotta ask. Doesn't seem like the two of you were all that... ecstatic. Or even happy. Certainly not post-coital... to be in each other's presence. Trouble in paradise?" For nearly a year, Sam's mission had been to keep his brother from going to hell. Then the next year, it had been to get him out again. Talk about anticlimactic. Inside, Ruby was vindictively pleased. The formerly human body got all warm with the desire to comfort him. If was mostly that side's bleed-through that prompted her to ask, voice low and suddenly sympathetic, "Have his feelings for you changed?" 

* * *

Ruby's information wasn't really useful except that demons were sent out to catch Dean and return him to hell. Sam meant to ask if others were trying to achieve that now that the first group had failed, but her sudden change of topic made him stop right in his tracks.

He had to give her that – she was highly perceptive of his feelings. Or maybe he was broadcasting too loudly, now that he was no longer close to Dean. 

_'ecstatic'_

_'post-coital'_

How much did the bitch know about Sam's desires? And... this close to her, was he imagining things or did she actually smell like she was... he couldn't put words to it... in heat?

_Have his feelings for you changed?_

Ruby's voice sounded warm and understanding. Sam sighed. He did _so_ not want to talk to her about his love for his brother, but the past day had drained Sam's defenses. She's a demon, Sam told himself, but he couldn't help it. The need to pour out his misery was overwhelming and she offered a friendly shoulder...

"Dean..." Sam licked his upper lip nervously. "He... He's changed..."

* * *

"Well, hell, will do that to a person. You have no idea what it's like." For the moment, Sam was responding to sympathy, and she would milk it for all it was worth. He was moody. Always. Best strike while the iron was hot because in five minutes he could be back to silent or biting her head off. Before the hellhounds got Dean, Ruby had easily picked up on their 'relationship', and a little after-hours listening-in had only confirmed it. Though it was a different body, and the first had been intellectually amused if condescending about them, this body reacted in its normal fashion to her memories of Sam's unrestrained, loose-lipped passion. 

Ruby had never been to a shrink in real life. But she mimicked what she'd heard on television, tone even and mildly concerned. "What's happening? Has he turned... like, evil or something? The prophesy was that a righteous man would suffer in hell. It doesn't say whether he's still righteous when he comes out again. He doesn't... abuse you?" She could have meant verbally, physically, or sexually. Ruby let it hang there, just as neutral – or not – as Sam needed it to be. He could talk to her: that was her message.

If he didn't backhand her first. He'd never been violent, not to her. Not that she couldn't handle herself. That was definitely one advantage to being more or less the undead. Way less physical limitations. 

They were nearing the house Ruby had trapped her quarry in. She turned the corner in the wrong direction just so they could continue to 'talk'. Maybe he'd notice later, maybe not. If questioned, she would just say that her help wasn't limited to teaching him how to exorcise with his mind. 

* * *

Sam knew it was a mistake, but he couldn't fight it. Of course, demons weren't capable of feeling compassion, but Ruby made a very convincing case. Then again, when was the last time he'd felt compassion directed at himself? As far as he could remember, Dean was the only one in his life who'd ever offered anything that might be remotely related. To everyone else, compassion didn't exist for hunters. It was, 'suck it up or die.' Maybe Bobby had tried after Dean had gone to hell, but Sam hadn't been able to take it.

Now Ruby was sitting next to him, warm and inviting. For a moment, Sam even wished they weren't driving so he could lose himself in her embrace. Gods, he missed being held so much! And now that Dean was back and refused him, it had gotten even worse!

"I... know," he replied tentatively. "I mean, I didn't expect to ever see him again. Not... after nobody would talk... or deal..." Sam took a breath, trying to hide what almost sounded like a sniffle. "I should be so happy to have him back, but... I miss him so much." 

The dam broke. "Ruby, is there anything you know about how to get Dean back? _My_ Dean? I don't think I can live without him..."

* * *

The boy was so fucking distraught. Whatever little human emotion Ruby had retained, and it was more than most of her kind as she was forever being chastised for it, compounded with the meat suit's response. She actually felt sorry for him. Sam's shoulders hunched and she could see the watery shine of his eyes as he tried not to cry. Dean was back, and he asked how to get his real brother back? Something was seriously wrong there.

"Sam, I don't know, this isn't really my area of expertise, but I can ask around. I've heard of things that can be done, rituals... It's binding though, you'd have to be sure." She didn't really want to give too much away. It was the very thing she had planned to do to make him hers all along. It rankled that they weren't to that stage yet. Tentatively, she reached a hand out, laid it on his upper arm, and gave it a squeeze. Her meat puppet just about exploded over the firmness of his bicep but she kept its face from showing anything like that. "I'm sorry that... that things are not working out well. I know you've been wishing for this for so long. Dean back, I mean. And for things to be as they were." 

So far, he hadn't knocked her hand away. It could be he didn't really notice in his misery, or else he found it comforting. Taking a chance, Ruby rubbed at his shoulder for a minute, then moved it up further to stroke his hair. This was all too awkward, driving one-handed. And the meat-suit was practically wetting her seat. It must have been the type of girl to like her men broken. That was useful knowledge. Pulling the car over, she put it in park and turned to him. Lost in despair, Sam really was weeping. Not sobbing, but tears were flowing freely from the corners of his eyes, silvery trails over his cheekbones, lips, down his neck. She offered her arms.

* * *

"I don't care what it takes," Sam choked out. "I just want my brother back."

Had he really said that? Sam could hardly believe it, but it was true. Nothing else mattered. He couldn't live without Dean. The real Dean, not the shell he'd spent the past 24 hours with.

Ruby touched his arm, squeezed it gently. It was a tentative touch, and her insecurity moved him. This couldn't be a heartless demon. It was a person who cared, deeply. Sam wasn't sure if he caught her words, but he caught the tone of voice and that she was feeling with him. Her hand moved on to his shoulder, rubbed his nape, carded his hair. Sam felt his insides melting. It was too much.

She must have sensed his despair because all of a sudden, the car was parked and she was offering her arms. It should be Dean offering to hold him, but his brother didn't want him. Sam's lower lip was trembling as he whispered a "Thank you," before collapsing into her embrace. Unable to speak, he soaked up her warmth into his shaking body. 

* * *

It was all Ruby could do to keep the body in line when Sam fell into its arms. "Oh, Sam," she cooed, petting his hair. He was so needy, shaking from the strength of his emotions! What would that feel like, under or over her, giving himself mind, body and soul to her, for her use? "Go ahead, let it out... He should understand how much you've risked and how hard you've tried to get him back."

She let Sam wear himself out. Since he allowed it, she let the body take liberties, touching him. At first, it was more petting, squeezing, staying in safe areas like his arms. She nuzzled into his neck, tempted to lick, but only let her breath fan against his skin. Yes, it would do nicely to have him trust her, before she introduced how she might 'help' him with Dean. A plan was forming, and Sam – his essence – would be the key piece.

* * *

For the first time in four months – four months that he had spent in his own hell – Sam felt like somebody understood what he'd suffered. 

"Ruby... you get it... why doesn't _he_ get it?" Sam's voice broke. "I..." She encouraged him to get it out, surely this was a good thing, right? He wouldn't admit it, but he'd looked up sites on the net on how to deal with loss. Every shrink in the world seemed to agree that 'getting it out' would help, and here Ruby was offering. How was it possible that he felt closer to a demon than to his own brother?

"I miss him so much..." Ruby wasn't Dean, but she was here. She wasn't refusing him – quite the opposite. Sam felt welcome, accepted, _loved._ It didn't make sense. She was a demon, but right in this moment, he felt closer to her than Dean, the 'new' Dean, who'd just returned from hell. 

"Ruby, I... Thank you for being here. For understanding. I never thought I'd say this, but you're the only one who gets me..."

* * *

Choking back a moan, Ruby had to admit it: a warm body in her arms felt good, really good. At such times as she'd had a body in hell, the experiences had been anything but pleasant. She and Dean had that in common. In the last two years, Ruby had occasionally used sex as a means to an end but hadn't enjoyed it much. This little black-haired body aside, she was beginning to see how much she would take pleasure in it with Sam. Without touching, she'd been able to feed off his emotions. Maybe it was his gift, but she'd rarely met anyone with such intensity. Like sticking her finger in an outlet of pure, sweet, syrupy voltage. It wasn't going to kill her, hell no. It made her stronger, advanced her power. Now, if Sam would accept her feeding it back to him, it wouldn't take long to strengthen his powers exponentially. And his body... Lucifer's balls, she couldn't wait to have all that raw power all over her. 

But first things first. "It's okay... I remember what it's like to love someone, and lose them, how bad it hurts. And now, just when you thought... It's like he's lost again," Ruby restated, validating his misery. She brought her hand around to his chest, over the washed-out fabric of his tight tee-shirt where she could feel his heart pounding, and pressed. "That's why I wanna help you, because I _know_. Your heart is breaking." Impulsively, she let her fingertips touch his warm skin at the edge of the V-neck. "Tell me, Sam," she encouraged again in her softest, huskiest voice. 

They weren't going to do anything too freaky in the car. He could barely move the way it was. But for Ruby, the feelings he bled in his tears and psychically amplified were like a strong hit of X or coke to a human. She was so buzzed. After they were done questioning the scum locked in the house, she'd get him to let down his walls again, if she could. 

* * *

Sam shivered when Ruby's hand came to rest on his chest, right over his heart. She confirmed in words that she remembered the pain of losing a loved one, and Sam felt the truth of it in her comforting touch.

Then her fingers moved to the hem of his shirt and... beyond. Her skin on his... gently caressing fingertips... Sam moaned softly. It felt so good! He was half hard, but he told himself that this wasn't a sexual need. Sure, Dean had warned him that Ruby would try to get him in the sack, but what she offered was not her body. It was her... _soul,_ and her touch engendered a sense of purity in him that made his eyes water.

_Tell me,_ she'd said, and Sam told her.

"I miss Dean so much. I miss his smile, the way he licks his lip and looks down at mine before he kisses me. I miss his arms around me, and my arms around him, his warmth, his firmness, his lips on my neck. I want to hear Dean's voice when he tells me he loves me."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to hide his tears, but opened them again, blinking. Ruby knew that he was almost crying and she was encouraging him to pour it all out, the pain, the misery, the loneliness. 

Heaving a deep sigh, he buried his face against her neck. "Make him come back to me, Ruby. Please!"

* * *

The almost-innocent want of him! Ruby shivered at the deliciousness of it. She'd inhabited a male body once for a day at extreme duress, and she had always wondered what sorts of things she could make it do. Sam, though, more than anything, loved his brother – in every way. He didn't even deny it! Just laid it right out there, how much he desired Dean as well as loved him. Hugging him hard, Ruby took it all in. The glowing threads of Sam's genuine sincerity would have ripped her heart out if she were human. 

As a man, Dean had never appealed to her. Okay, fine, he was pretty, but she found him cold, and considering what she was, that was saying something. If it were Dean in Sam's seat, she'd be starving for a hit for the rest of whichever of their lives burned out first. But, she remembered this, too: there was no logic to love. 

"Sam, I'll do everything I can to work it out, please believe me. Everything in its own time, okay? Dean will be yours again." No, it wasn't the right time to lay an ultimatum on him. Eventually he'd figure out there was a price, and before that, he needed to be dependent on her or he'd walk or kill her with her own knife. Ruby held him for a while longer, savoring him, waiting to see if he was going to spill anything else. The confines of the car weren't exactly comfortable, with two bucket seats and the console between. 

* * *

Ruby's hold on Sam tightened, and for the first time since Dean had returned, Sam felt safe. As long as he was with her, he was no longer forced to deny his love. He was allowed to _be._ Ruby would never lecture him that desiring one's brother was a sin. Sam took a deep, shuddering breath. He was no longer alone.

"Thank you," he whispered. There were so many things he thanked her for, for holding him when he needed the comfort of her arms as well as for her promise to do anything to make Dean his again.

When Sam noticed the increasing tension in his back – he really was too tall for this kind of car – he reluctantly let go of Ruby. Already half-way back in his seat, he leaned over again and pecked her cheek. "Thank you. For everything."

How was it possible that he felt so refreshed? "I suppose we should discuss how to question your prisoner," Sam offered. "Do you already have a plan?"

* * *

Taking a deep breath at the loss of his closeness, Ruby let go of Sam, turned to face the front again, and put the car in gear. "You're welcome. And if you need to talk about again some other time, just call." She would be there. Definitely.

"Yeah, I have a plan. It won't be much different than any other time." Now to drop the bomb. She turned the corner, literally and figuratively. "I want you take a more active role, Sam. If this piece of shit knows anything about Dean – how he got out, what's tailing him, what's wrong with him – then you'll be able to ask the right questions, more than I. As far as applying pressure," by this she meant torture, and for later, the exorcism itself, "you need to learn it, too. You have all the potential, locked up in your head. All you have to do is free it." 

She had to be careful now. At this moment, Sam was open and vulnerable, but she'd seen in the past how he could snap alert and wary in an instant. "How bad do you want that? How bad do you want your lov–, brother back?"

Now they were pulling up in front of the crumbling house. Before Sam could answer, leaving him with that, Ruby hopped out of the car and strode across the weed-infested lawn. The front door was rotting, and she could have kicked it in but fished the key out of her front pocket in a bid for time. 

* * *

Sam's face lit up when Ruby offered that he should take a more active role in interrogating her captive. He was doing this for Dean, after all. Maybe she was only being polite in her suggestion that Sam could ask the better questions, but there was no doubt that he had the better motivation. He didn't approve of her methods, but if hers was the only way to obtain answers, Sam would go along with everything she asked him to.

He noticed that his attitude had changed since Dean had returned. Before, Sam had been running on desperation, the tiniest sliver of hope, but in his heart he'd known that nobody had ever returned from hell before. Although he'd stubbornly refused to believe it, the resignation had always been there. Maybe that was why he'd never gone the final step Ruby had suggested during earlier interrogations.

Now, however, the impossible had happened. Dean had returned – partly. Sam would no longer let his... squeamishness... get into the way of fighting for his brother. A Dean without his memories wasn't Dean. As soon as Dean remembered, he'd understand why Sam had to do it and agree that it was the right – the only – choice.

Ruby was already out of the car when Sam made up his mind. She wrestled the key into the lock of the front door and turned her head to see where the delay was. Sam's eyes burned into hers.

"I. Want. Dean."

* * *

A surge of victory flooded through Ruby. She met Sam's eyes and nodded. "Get in the house." She darted inside, waited, and slammed the door behind him. The rickety thing nearly fell off its hinges. Eager and grinning like a fiend but keeping her face turned away, Ruby pulled Sam further inside, away from the windows. 

"Now, you might find this strange at first, but I _can_ strengthen you, little by little over time. Vamps have one thing right." Next to the door to the stairs leading down into the dank cellar, she turned to face Sam and flicked out her pocket knife. "Blood. It's life and power. My power infused in this little skank's blood." Sam's face was awash in confusion and denial and Ruby sucked that right up, too, like a sponge. She pushed up her sleeve and held the blade to her arm. 

"Well, Sam? You want Dean. Do you want _this_? It's the only way." Oh, it felt so good to finally pull him in, if his natural resistance was worn down enough. He was right at the brink. And if not, well, she'd bet good money that once they were done here, he wouldn't be able to stop thinking about it. Especially once she left him with that brother of his who was too damaged to love him, and couldn't remember their... Ruby couldn't allow herself to think of them together. Her meat-suit would come off untouched. Raising her eyebrows, Ruby nicked the tender flesh just below the elbow and let the blood run down. 

* * *

In hindsight, Sam shouldn't have been surprised. Ruby had tried to convince him many times before that her blood would make him stronger, would allow him full control of his psychic abilities. He'd believed her. Blood _was_ life and power. In fact, it was this power that made him refuse in the past: power of this kind always demanded a price.

Dean was worth any price, though. Sam would willingly pay everything he had to offer if only it brought him his brother back. And it wouldn't even cost him his soul. He'd discussed this with Ruby before when the crossroads demons refused to make a deal so that Sam could take Dean's place in hell. Ruby had promised – sworn – that Sam accepting her blood wasn't the same as a crossroads deal. Sam had begged her for that but she hadn't been able to provide. 

"I can't say that I want it," Sam said. He was shaking, and so was his voice. Somehow, Ruby was standing so close to him that he could feel her warmth. Again. Just like earlier when she'd comforted him. Holding his breath, he leaned down slowly and licked at the nick in her arm.

Already the first drop made him dizzy. The world began to swim out of focus, and all he could see was the thin line of blood on the soft flesh. "I don't want, but I need... it." Had he really almost said 'I need _you?'_ Sam lapped at the wound again, feeling raw power course through his veins. It made his heart beat faster, and he moaned when he went from lapping to greedy sucking. 

The dizziness increased, but at the same time there was a clarity to his thoughts that surprised him. One thought was that the dizziness must be caused by the lack of blood in his brain due to the massive erection that hung painfully between his thighs.

Another thought hit. Yes, he loved his brother, and he desired him. What he needed right now, however, was more than Dean. It was...

Sam looked up from Ruby's arm, surprised that the wound was already healing. The expression on her face was curiosity and something else that he couldn't read. It didn't matter. He pulled her in close until her belly was pressed against his aching groin, and he started grinding against her immediately.

"Ruby, Ruby," Sam shuddered and groaned loudly. "I need you. Please, can I...?"

* * *

Once he saw the red of her blood, Sam didn't hesitate any longer. Something changed in his eyes. At last, Ruby had convinced him to accept her offering, and with it, the magnification of his gifts. The switch in his intent hooked through her guts like a psychic orgasm. At the same time, Sam leaned over to take his first taste, submitting himself to her will, to lick up the flowing red line down her arm. His hair brushed her skin, raising gooseflesh all over. His tongue trailed over the thin flesh, wet and soft and slightly raspy. And, when San got to the wound itself, he clamped his lips down and sucked at it, saliva mixing in with her cells, drawing energy off her. 

Ruby stopped drawing a line between herself and the borrowed body. It hurt, having her power drained. Only, this drawing-out was edged in a distinctly carnal, sexual desire... Because, startled as she was to realize it, that was what Sam was feeling. It had always been the goal – and gods, he was potent. And her body knew it. Rhythmic pulses of heat fluttered from her crotch to her nipples, liquid fire simmering low down. Sam shoved her against the wall and pushed a hard-on as huge as the rest of him against her like a concealed weapon. 

For once, Ruby decided, she was going to let the meat-suit have its way. Because in doing so, she was having her way, too. Hell, yeah, she wanted it! "Yes, yes you can," she told him. "Fuck me, Sam! Till we're both screaming!" Ruby tossed her jacket to the floor. Jumping up, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and her legs around his waist. "You feel so fucking good... So big..." 

He was grinding against her; all she had to do was hitch upward a little to fit the iron ridge of his cock against the notch between her legs. "Mmmm, Sammmm," she moaned, rocking her hips. "Need to feel you in me."

Already, between the scene in the car and now this delightful development, her panties were soaked. She needed it, bad. Since she hardly expected him to kiss her, Ruby pushed a hand between them and quickly started on his belt, fingers shaking. Sam's breath was coming in short little gasps as he thrust against her. Finally she got the damn buckle undone, and the buttons on his jeans, and slid her hand down against his groin, through the sweat-damp hair... "Oh, god...!" Uncut! Leaking like a woman, and so fucking huge. She couldn't wait for him to tear her up. 

* * *

"Yes, yes..." Sam didn't register anything but Ruby's voice, begging him to fuck her until they both screamed. Then, she jumped up, pressing her crotch against his. He pressed back, cursing his jeans under his breath, but Ruby was already there. Letting go of him, she made short work of his clothes, ripping his shirt open and freeing his erection. 

The small part of his upstairs brain that was still working was puzzled that she'd refer to 'oh god' in her ecstasy, but there was always something new one could learn about demons... and this one was hot as hellfire...

Sam's hands slipped between her legs, pushed her skirt up, and... his knees buckled at the sudden wetness on his fingers. He wasn't very experienced with women, but he'd been with enough to know that this was exceptional. Then her musky scent hit him and he moaned deeply. She was so ready for him!

Suddenly unable to restrain himself, he ripped her soaked panties aside. It took him only a few seconds to take her buttocks in his hands and lift her up so he could enter her wet heat with a single push. Gods, but she was tight! The urge to rut was overwhelming, but Sam forced himself to stop. He knew that if he as much as breathed, it would be over immediately.

* * *

Even when she'd been alive, Ruby had but rarely been so fucking turned on. Sam's knees hit the wall underneath her while he fumbled to raise her skirt and... There was no way those panties were coming off unless he ripped them off, not with Ruby's thighs clamped around him. He was as freaked by how wet she was as Ruby was, herself. Her cunt was eating her alive from the inside, crying its emptiness and raining the need to be stuffed full. 

Eyes shocky and wide, Sam, everything that was Sam, pushed into her. Her pussy made a nasty sucking noise and she clamped down around his cock as it invaded and stretched her body's delicate tissues. It was going to take nothing at all for her to come. "Oh fuck yeah!" Ruby screeched. Sam was just as ravenously horny; now that he was inside her, she could almost read his mind, how he was trying to keep from spilling already, how tight she felt around him. 

Well, she had no reason to wait. An arch, a series of internal ripples, Ruby found the _spot_ inside and writhed against Sam, holding tight around his chest and rubbing her nipples against it. "Yeah... Yeah..." The thundering peak crashed through her belly, down her legs and she moaned helplessly. Her whole body turned loose and twitchy for a second, and then... It wanted more. All kinds of more. Ruby growled, "C'mon, Sam, need your cock... You gotta move, NOW."

* * *

As much as Sam tried to keep still, he knew he'd lose it the moment Ruby clenched around him again. Her screech was answered by a sound from a wounded animal that Sam recognized as himself. She was pulsing and throbbing. Somehow, her voice filtered through the ringing in his ears as she ordered him to move. Now.

Sam's body obeyed the order where his mind was numbed from the onslaught of pleasure and need concentrating in his lower body. He thrust, once, twice, deep and forceful, smiling grimly as she screamed again, and then he was there, pumping into her, screaming with her, as he filled her with his essence. His balls emptied to the point where they hurt, but still he couldn't stop thrusting into her, making her inner muscles ripple again and again. 

Their mingled juices leaked down his thighs as she came over and over. To his utter surprise, Sam didn't soften – no, if anything, he hardened even more despite his incredible climax only a minute ago. He knew then that he was going to cum again, and that it would tear his insides out. Sam groaned, desperate for the ultimate release.

"Need... need you so fucking much, Dean!"

* * *

It went on and on, the pleasure dizzying – a glut from her body's sex-starved, endorphin-laden releases and Sam's psychic bleed – and not enough. So goddamn good, so full, legs and pussy spread wide open while Sam shoved into her again and again, gone with need. She felt him cum, what it felt like for him, painful and raw over pure physical ecstasy, emptying himself as she took it in. 

In her own skin, Ruby howled as her body exploded again, delicious insanity. Those inner muscles grabbed at his cock; the harder she clenched the more violently he had to push, and he did it, a raging stud for her temporary use. As he yelled loud enough to set neighborhood dogs barking, Sam's seed pumped deep into her. So much... It dripped out again and ran down her thighs and his, down her ass and his balls, so they slid slick and messy, growls like animals' ripped from their throats. He just kept going. Head tipped far back, eyes squeezed shut, Sam in this state was a vision of male lust, virile and powerful, young and in love. 

Not with her. But who needed love? Where did that even come from?

The earlier blood loss had been fairly minimal, when she'd fed him. To say she had diminished in power was nearly a lie now – what had drained was back full force. Ruby could give Sam even more, too, if she could force another orgasm from him. Leaning back till her shoulders hit the wall, Ruby jammed her clit down against Sam's groin. "Uhh, uhh, another one, Sam, for both of us." Wham! It hit her in another crashing wave. She doubted he heard the incantation. Totally out of control, Sam cried out for his brother. Forcing every drop of excess energy back at him, Ruby revelled in his love and misery. "So sweet... Sammy, baby boy, love the way you fuck..." 

Her words – Dean's words – were like gasoline to fire. Hopped up on imagery of himself and Dean copulating and kissing and spurting the evidence of their love all over each other's naked bodies, Sam grabbed at Ruby's hair and much smaller body, her hips and breasts. His rough rutting was beginning to hurt her but it only added to her greed-driven heat, and she'd get off on that just as well as the sex. 

Before, in the car, he'd been convinced to let out his feelings at Ruby's command when she showed compassion. Right now, she needed his seed as balm for her demon spirit as well as for the body's scraped-raw nerves. Forget that men weren't supposed to be able to do this – he was extraordinary in every way. "Let it out, let it go. You can. You're perfect, Sam. Let yourself have this." 

As much as he was exerting himself, Sam's chest heaved and he was starting to shake. Ruby wiggled in his arms, mostly pinned to the wall, helpless. He thrust wildly, desperately, when she slid a hand under his shirt and pinched his erect nipple, pulled at the tip and rolled it. But then she pressed even closer so that she could reach his ass, cupping Sam's bare cheek. What would he need even more than her cunt? She didn't have male parts to offer. Inspiration struck: Ruby moved her fingers over, prying into the crease to tap at his quivering, tiny hole. Sam gasped then grunted like he'd been kicked in the balls... And the force of his release punched into every part of her body and psyche. 

* * *

By the time his second release hit him, Sam was beyond any intensity he'd ever felt before. Every nerve ending was on fire and his senses were seriously warped. Dean's voice was pitched almost like a girl's, but then, Dean had never allowed Sam into his body. His brother had never felt the ecstasy of having this incredible pleasure spot deep inside played with, so that must be the reason why he sounded so strange. His words, however...

_"So sweet... Sammy, baby boy, love the way you fuck..."_

"Yes, yes! Oh god! Dean!" With every stroke, Sam flew higher.

_"Let it out, let it go. You can. You're perfect, Sam. Let yourself have this."_

"Grrrnnnuuuhhhh...." Why did it take so fucking long; he needed to cum NOW!!!

A hand fumbled its way up under his shirt and pulled at his nipple, then pinched it hard. Sam's feet almost lifted off the ground as the sweetest pain singed through his body, as he howled out his need. So fucking close! _One more thrust, just one more, please, Dean, cum with me..._

Dean's finger hovered over Sam's hole, tapped at it. The dam burst. He pushed into Dean as deeply as he could in an attempt to impale his brother, to make them melt into each other, so that they could never be separated again. 

"DEEEAAANNNN!!!!"

The world turned upside down and then the flash of his release consumed him.

* * *

It shouldn't have: If Ruby had been a normal woman she'd have been jealous, hurt, or pissed as hell when Sam drifted into an altered state while he was still fucking her. He truly thought he was with Dean. It was a sight to behold, the passion with which he rocked them both. The second peak was violent. Sam slammed into her so deep Ruby felt the flood of heat behind her navel, his long, blunt fingers bruising, nails scratching in their wake. Along with his life force, Ruby drank in the messed-up, erotic-fantasy that drained him of cum and whatever tiny portion of his free will she could skim. And all it did was get her off.

Coming down, Ruby shuddered through powerful aftershocks that were like a string of mini-orgasms. Sam was senseless under her; his eyes rolled back, like he was about to lose consciousness. Ruby held on, getting her feet to the floor. Softening, his dick slipped free and gods, gross... Ruby adjusted her panties and their combined fluids ran into the already-soaked fabric. 

"Sam!" They still had work. Ruby certainly hadn't anticipated this little detour. Her legs were made of rubber; she braced herself against the wall, trying to get Sam's attention. He was a wreck. Debauched. Hair a mess and his jeans open and pushed down, their combined slick smeared all over his junk and bare upper thighs, lips swollen and still deeply flushed across his cheekbones and down his neck and chest from... Jeez, he did have two! She had done it – as had he. 

"That was incredible," Ruby purred. "You. Are incredible." Brushing her fingertips over his cheek, Ruby almost wished this were more than just a business deal, never mind he didn't know it. She'd even put up with being second to Dean for a while; the man's rejection fuelled Sam in a steady burn of lust and ambition. 

"Time to get it together, Sam. Let's do what we came here to do." It seemed like a bad joke. Hadn't they just done that? In a way. Now it was time to see how they'd both benefited from it, beyond the purely – sinfully – physical. 

* * *

The first thing Sam noticed when his brain came back online was that his body was about to give out. Bracing himself against the wall... a body... _Ruby's body_ wasn't enough; his legs were trembling so much that they collapsed under him and he ended in an undignified heap on the floor. Looking up, he found himself almost kneeling before Ruby. 

_Ruby. Whom he'd just fucked within an inch of their lives._

No, this couldn't be. It was so wrong! How could he have thought he was with Dean? Sam had agreed to the blood, knowing it was the only way to find out what had been done to his brother in hell, but what had come after that... The sex... This should never have happened.

Still gasping for breath, Sam asked himself how it was possible that he'd let himself go like that. And then, how could he feel so empty, drained, and still not satisfied after climaxing, not only insanely intense, but twice in a row? He knew the answer to this latter question, and he didn't like it: it had been sex, and only sex. Sam had never before slept with anyone he hadn't had a deep emotional connection with. He'd even felt close to the hooker Dean had paired him with, because Dean had wanted him to be with her.

_Dean._

A wave of sickness washed over Sam. His brother must never find out. He looked at the sticky mess of his groin and thighs, and groaned. Well, at least the fluids hadn't reached his jeans. Yet.

"Ruby, I... this shouldn't have happened, and I swear that it will never happen again," Sam hissed, not sure if he hated himself more or her. "And if either of us wants to survive the day, you'll blindfold your, um, guest, and let me take a shower before we question him. If Dean smells you on me..." 

He shuddered. How could he even begin to hope to keep what they'd just done secret from Dean?

* * *

"Pfft! What's Dean gonna do?" Ruby taunted. "Cut your balls off? You got anything left down there, Sam?" He flinched hard and Ruby barked a laugh. Just a minute ago, she'd felt tender and protective toward Sam. The second he considered what he'd – they'd – done, he pulled all of himself away. Or, tried. He couldn't as successfully now. The blood ties compounded with sex magic would keep him leashed to her whether he realized it or not. 

"Don't worry about the _guest_ ," Ruby ground out. "He won't live to tell anyone about anything." There was the Sam she knew, ready to skin her alive. It was just as glorious as his unleashed sexuality: Guilt! Stomach-roiling disgust! Shame! Oh, he hated her now, and that would do just fine till the next time she could worm her way into his good graces, and, perhaps, his pants. If only for a short time, it was so good to have this proud and stand-offish human humbled at her feet. 

Trying not to laugh out of glee, Ruby told him, "If there's any water in this place, it'll be ice cold. Have fun." She walked away, swinging her hips. At first, she headed toward the basement. But then, she decided she'd observe Sam while he washed. That would really piss him off. Turning again, she smiled sweetly. "I should make you clean me. With your tongue." 

* * *

Sam's scowl was so deep that it made his facial muscles pull painfully. If he'd ever hated anyone, it was Ruby. He jumped to his feet, blushing beet-red, totally disgusted with himself and the traces of their lust that clung to his body. With his pants around his knees, he couldn't walk, so he stripped them and his boots off as to not get them soaked in his cum. How could he have sunk so low?

Fuming, Sam stalked stiffly in the appointed direction, his mood not improved when she turned to follow him. What did she think, that she owned him now? He almost missed her next words.

_"I should make you clean me. With your tongue."_

The demon's laughter made Sam see red. "You...!" He reached for the – her – knife in his boot, wanting nothing more than to pin her against the wall and slash her throat. At the very last moment, he regained control over himself. She was currently the only lead they had on Dean's reappearance. Panting harshly, he stood with daggers shooting from his eyes. "You. Stay away from me. I mean it."

As soon as they found this Castiel or any other useful clue, Sam would happily put her out of her – as well as his – misery, but it would have to wait. Turning his back on her, he found the bathroom and reached for the faucet. As she'd said, there was only cold water. It didn't matter as long as he could clean himself. Taking his shirts off to keep them dry, Sam stepped into the shower and scrubbed at his skin until it stung, then dried off with the threadbare towel, all the while ignoring the demon who was watching him.

The cold water and washing helped him calm down a little. Once he was dressed again, Sam realized how hopped up and at the same time how exhausted he was. There was a feeling of vast emptiness deep inside him, a yearning for love, for Dean. The sex had left him drained and even more unfulfilled as he'd been before. The need to feel his brother, even a fleeting touch of their hands, was so strong that it hurt. 

Yet, there was also the demon's blood now pounding through his veins that was screaming for action. Sam needed to move, and the only focus for this weird kind of energy was the demon Ruby had trapped. Sam nodded grimly. That thing had better give them the answers they were looking for.

"Right. Time for work. Where is it?"

* * *

Leaning a hip against the door frame and crossing her arms, Ruby only smirked in the face of Sam's righteous anger. Of course, the knife could kill her as well as any other demon, but he thought better of using it. 

She'd been right about the body hidden under his clothes. Besides his height and the size of his male equipment, he was _ripped_. The hunter's life must be more strenuous than she imagined if it resulted in a body like that. It was obvious he didn't like her staring, but why the hell not? She might never have the opportunity again. Water-burnished and tense with cold and those dusky nipples pulled tight was nothing to sneeze at, either. But naturally, Sam washed, dried off, and dressed as fast as he could. Before he was even done, he was asking about their 'work to do'.

"Downstairs. You can have first crack at him. And Sam..." Even though he hated it, he needed to understand this, "whatever you're feeling? Hate, love, rejection, disgust, whatever of those oh-so-intense human emotions...? Use it. Use it to break him down." Before he could glare at her again like he'd just as soon practice on her, Ruby led the way down the wobbly stairs. 

Their captive was still tied up and was dozing in his chair, head lolling forward. It was a man a little older than Sam, short mud-brown hair and mostly non-descript. "Rise and shine, motherfucker!" Ruby barked and kicked him awake. "We have a few questions for you." Her tone let him know he was in deep shit if they didn't like his answers, or lack there-of. Nodding at Sam to take over, Ruby stayed clear of the Devil's trap and remained ready to bolster her human if necessary. 


	5. Chapter 5

Sam stood in front of the door to his – their – motel room, debating with himself whether to go in. He wasn't sure if he was ready to face Dean – no, strike that, he knew that he wasn't ready, but he had a feeling that he'd never be. Time to take the bull by the horns, he thought, but he still couldn't bring himself to enter.

He'd never felt as bad before in his life. Not this kind of bad, at least. Sam had been broken when Dean had gone to Hell, and every time an attempt to save his brother had failed, he'd broken even further. It was ironic that he felt worse now that he had Dean back. Or not. The man who'd returned was not the Dean he loved. 

Sam's unfulfilled desire for Dean made him want to cry. He missed his brother so much, the warmth and love they'd shared, including the physical love. To Sam, it had always been so much more than sex. Dean's arms were the only place where Sam could let go and feel safe. And now...

He was shocked by his sudden thought that, maybe, things had been better when Dean had been gone. Sam's whole life had been turned into chaos in the past few hours, crowned by him having submitted to Ruby's suggestions, drinking her blood and then having sex with her. He still didn't know how that had happened, and was scared witless that it might happen again. What scared him even more was how Dean would react if he found out. Sam could only hope that since his brother wasn't on top of his game, Sam might be able to hide the afternoon's events from him.

Taking a deep breath, Sam unlocked the door and stepped into the room.

* * *

Dean was bored off his ass. What he should be doing with himself about now was another story but he was BORED. After Sam took off with Ruby, he'd driven around for a while, but there was less than half a tank in the Impala and they weren't exactly flush with cash. So he'd found a liquor store that opened at noon, bought a case of cheap beer, and gone back to their room. They'd have to pay for another day, but that was tough. He wasn't going to hang around a park like some pedo. Drinking in public was a bad idea, regardless. 

Ruby. The bitch had herself a new body. Or possibly, walking corpse. Dean shuddered at that thought. This one was Sam's type, he thought, remembering Madison the unfortunate werewolf girl: small and dark, nice tits, flashing eyes and sarcastic mouth. 100 percent pure unholy trouble. What was the world coming to that his brother was teamed up with a demon? He had to have lost his mind to grief. 

Well, now Dean was back, and he shouldn't have to be in mourning any longer. Only... Sam was miserable. Anyone could see that. The holes in Dean's memories seemed to conceal important clues about the past, and he felt impotent and subsequently engaged that it was out of his reach. Apparently, Sam was also horny, rubbing up against him and jerking off at night. Dean just hoped that Ruby #2 wasn't trying to 'help' Sam with that not-so-small problem. He'd have to kill her.

And what the fuck was taking so long? Daytime television really sucked. Game shows, some stupid hospital drama. Who thought up a name like Dr. Sexy, MD? And who watched that? Quickly he clicked the channel button. Even the cartoons were insipid and moronic. Obviously he was too restless to be satisfied with anything, too restless to sleep. Dean downed one beer and started on another. "It's 5:00 somewhere," he told himself. 

About the time he got a nice buzz going – only three beers in since his tolerance had burned up in Hell – Sam turned his key in the lock, pushed open the door and strode into the room. Dean looked up. Something was off, more off than usual. "Well?" he demanded.

* * *

Dean was in a surly mood, which couldn't be explained by the three beer bottles on the table. No, he was suspicious, and rightly so. Sam cringed as his brother began the inquisition before even saying 'hi.'

"Nothing," Sam shrugged, trying to sound normal. "We questioned the mook. He didn't know anything, and neither did Ruby." 

* * *

"Great. Colossal waste of time, then. It took that long to question some dumb-ass who knew nothing?" Dean raised his eyebrows, then shrugged. It wasn't as if he had any better suggestions. Before, it had seemed like he and Sam had shared responsibilities for brainstorming, research, and their version of field work. At the moment, he had no idea what to do next. Return to Pamela's, try to get any shred of information from Sam, try searching the Internet again for strange sightings?

"Whatever. Some leads are bound to dead-end. So did you exorcize him, and more to the point, did he survive it? Or don't I want to know?" 

* * *

"Yep, waste of time," Sam conceded tightly. "But we didn't know that beforehand. We might have got something out of him, so it was worth the effort." 

Why did he feel as if he was under attack from Dean when his brother was only asking to be brought up to the same level of information Sam had? Of course, this was important for Dean, more important than for Sam, as Dean was the one who'd been rescued from Hell without having many clues by whom or what.

_Castiel._ The mook hadn't recognized the name. Ruby had never heard of him either – at least that was what she claimed. Sam had never really trusted her, but after what had happened today, he was sure that whatever the demon had planned for him wasn't good. He wished he could talk to Dean about all this...

Dean was staring at him intently, and Sam hurried to reply to his brother's question. "We... I... exorcized him. He's alive. Ruby is bringing him to the ER." 

Sam hesitated. _Don't I want to know?_ Was Dean trying to tell him to keep quiet about what else he suspected Sam had done with Ruby?

"That's all," he finished.

* * *

"Uh-huh. Okay." There was more, Dean knew it, but he also was sure that Sam wouldn't tell him. Not without a fight. "Well, what now? Got a plan, brainiac?" 

In Hell, Alastair and his minions had repeated about a thousand times a day how much smarter Sam was, of the two of them. Sometimes it still rankled, more that they'd got to him than the fact that Sam had more working brain cells. It wasn't Sam's fault that Dean had started dumping toxic shit into his system from a young age as the only way he knew how to deal with his life. That, he'd learned at their father's knee. Their dad had done plenty of drinking and crying in his beer, but when he was on a case, he was ON. Unlike Dean, who couldn't presently scrape two thoughts to rattle together. 

Realizing he was staring, Dean blinked and tore his eyes away from Sam, who was looking back at him like he, Dean, had just been caught in some unnatural act. Sam... _smelled_ different from earlier. If not the same, he should have been rank with left-over fear-scent or the sweat of effort. He smelled like... a diluted version of himself. It was just weird, Dean decided, that he was fixating on what Sam smelled like. 

Well, screw that. Bobby was their best bet, since he'd had the opportunity to talk with Pamela for almost a day now. Dean figured they should opt for that route. There had to be books of lore on whatever this Castiel thing was – including some to dispel whatever myth. 

Since Sam remained silent, Dean offered, "We should go find Bobby. Maybe he uncovered a lead. Might need to get him back to Sioux Falls; there has to be something in that dust-heap of a library of his."

* * *

"Honestly, no," Sam replied. "No plan. No clue except for 'Castiel', whoever he, she, or it may be." He could tell that Dean was pissed off, but wasn't sure why. Of course, their situation sucked in so many aspects that Sam couldn't begin to tell where it started, but his instincts told him that Dean's annoyance was directed at him, not at their current life in general.

Sam couldn't help staring at his brother. Dean looked strung tightly, like a caged panther: beautiful but deadly if challenged – and he was backed into a corner. Awe and desire warred inside Sam when their eyes met. Then, Dean looked away and – sniffed? A wave of panic raced through Sam's body. He'd washed after being with Ruby, but maybe the cold water and stony soap hadn't been enough to clear the traces of what they'd done? He released a breath when Dean suggested they go find Bobby.

"You know, why don't you talk to him – them. I could do with a nap, I'm quite tired." Cringing under the look Dean shot him, Sam wondered if his brother could read his thoughts. Or worse, maybe Dean had his own ideas why Sam wanted some alone time.

_Sam is tired because he exhausted his sex drive with a demon._

_Sam wants privacy for jerking off so he can shout my name without being heard._

"Dean..." Sam swallowed. "It isn't what you think..." he stopped himself. Now, _that_ was probably the stupidest thing to say, ever. "Exorcizing... I know you don't trust my psychic powers, but it's the only way to keep the victim alive. And it's... draining." 

* * *

Obviously, Sam wanted to get rid of him. It would be just as easy to call Bobby and talk to him that way, if it were just him. Sleep was just an excuse for Sam to... well, god knew what he got up to when Dean wasn't around. It was all sorts of wrong to be so suspicious, but since he'd been back, virtually nothing about being around Sam suggested otherwise. Right now, his brother had that look on his face that said he was omitting something significant.

"Sure, Sam, sleep it off," Dean bit out. "I'm sure that your 'psychic _powers_ ' are exhausting." He narrowed his eyes. "What isn't what I think it is?" 

* * *

For a second, it looked as if Dean would let him off with a sarcastic remark, but Sam should have known it wouldn't be so easy.

"Well," he hemmed and hawed. Telling his brother the truth about Ruby was out of the question. Sam felt guilty for lying, but he had no other choice. "I thought that you probably think it's because of... because of last night. I mean I didn't sleep too well after... Shit, Dean, are you really going to make me say it?"

As uncomfortable as Dean was with Sam's undeniable desire for him, this was probably the only way for Sam to shut his brother up. 

* * *

Oh, THAT again. Shit. Hadn't they gotten past Sam's strange reaction upon first seeing him, and settled on that they were both relatively young men whose bodies had needs? That's where Dean had thought it had ended. But oh no, Sam was gnawing on that bone – so to speak – once more. Or, Dean thought he was, with those slanted eyes sliding over his face and body till he felt like a girl-in-the-window might. There was no point in catering to that. After a while, whatever his problem now, Sam would become immune to Dean's presence – he'd just have to wait it out. 

"No, don't say it," he blustered, standing up. "I'll get out of your hair for a while so you can get your beauty rest." He grabbed his jacket, car keys, and phone, not able to resist a little dig. "Don't forget to clean the pipes first! Meanwhile, I'll call Bobby and do some research." This town had to have some sort of library or archive; there was always the outside chance some clue would appear. If nothing else, there'd be a bar. Unlike earlier, when he'd been counting the minutes till his brother's return, Dean wanted to be away for a good long time. Hours. Make Sam call him back, though it would be only for transport.

* * *

"Thank you." Although Dean hadn't even left yet, Sam already missed him – missed 'his' Dean. It was something he'd have to get used to. And he needed to learn how to hide his emotions. "I'll get back on the net for some additional research. Call me if you find out anything? There are a few things I want to ask that Castiel, too." Namely, what he/she/it had done to his brother's memories. 

Dean left and Sam plopped down on the bed. Thankfully, it had been made up while they'd been gone, but he thought he could still smell his shame from the night. Shit, and of course he was hard again.

_Clean the pipes first._

It was the last thing Sam wanted to do. Utterly disgusted by what he'd done with Ruby, Sam thought he'd never get it up again, but being in Dean's presence had immediately challenged that thought. His brother's body, his scent, even the scowl on his face, everything about Dean made Sam want to jump on him, grind is body against him and feel Dean react, make love to him. It wasn't going to happen, and the only way to get the images out of his mind that Sam could think of was exhausting his sexual needs until he literally was beyond physical desire.

Unzipping his pants and pushing them down, Sam slid a hand inside his boxer briefs. Not surprised, he discovered that he'd leaked a large wet patch already. Sam palmed himself and started stroking.

* * *

Walking out the door, Dean felt a huge sense of relief. And emptiness. Before he and Sam had been reunited, for that entire day, he'd anticipated it so much, on edge with an extended adrenaline rush. The happy buzz had fizzled the minute they were alone. Maybe... maybe it was his fault somehow. That Sam... No! It had to be the responsibility of what or who Sam had been doing in the last four months. 

The day was going to be warm. It has been late spring when Dean had died, and now it was Indian summer here. Further south, it would still be 'real' summer. He felt like he needed to catch up on this 4-month (or 40-year) jetlag. Dean slid into the Impala and started his Baby. The rich humming rumble was balm to his nerves. At least Sam had kept the same silver-bullet keychain. 'Ipod jack', Dean snorted. Maybe if AC/DC or Black Sabbath had come blaring out of the speakers, he'd have been more understanding about it. After all, they hadn't had cassettes in the 60's yet, either. 

Running his hands over the steering wheel's curves, Dean recalled the previous night, not that he wanted to. It shouldn't make him tingle between his legs, how Sam had come off in his sleep – had he _really_ been asleep? Well, now that his body had told him rather dramatically that he wasn't impotent after all, Dean would be back to cold showers and furtive... Cleaning the pipes. That again. Was Sam... Right now...? 

This had to stop. Dean reached for his crotch and squeezed as hard as he dared without making himself sick. Then he abruptly put the car in gear and peeled out of the lot. 

A block later, a wave of sheer annoyance hit him. His wallet! How could he have been so stupid? Dean could visualize it on the bedside table where he'd tossed it before his three-beer spree. Technically, he supposed he shouldn't be driving, but that had never stopped him. No, he'd just had to have a brain fart the second he needed to get the hell away. 

It took another block before he could make himself turn back. With a heaved sigh, Dean made right turn, then two more and found himself re-entering the motel lot from the back alley. He parked before their door, and stared at the flaking gold numbers. Dammit. Sam had had enough time now to... He didn't want to know. 

Fuck it. Sam had walked in on him in various sorts of _in flagrante delicto,_ Dean knew he had. He'd just pretend he was returning the favor, if it came to that. 

Dean turned the key and strode in. "Sorry, Sam. Forgot my--" Oh, god. Sam was on his back, legs spread, doing what Dean had feared, eyes squeezed shut tight, back arched, and hips rolling. His little brother was hung like a horse! At least the length – the thing nearly reached his navel. How the Hell did Sam walk with that...? To his horror, Dean realized that first of all, he was _watching_ , and secondly, he'd gone from zero to 'pounding nails' in the last five seconds. Fuck, fuck, fuck! To compound it, he couldn't stop himself from saying, "Jesus, Sammy. Do you need me to fuck you...?" 

He slapped a hand over his mouth. But then that left the bulge in his jeans totally exposed, and Dean lowered his hands again and folded them before himself. He could feel his eyes widened and dilated. As if it were starving for it, his body thrummed from knees to chest. Dean had never thought he'd feel this helpless, out of the pit. 

* * *

Sam squeezed his eyes shut while his blood-starved brain showed him memories of Dean. He hadn't allowed himself these images for months because his release was always followed by the renewed realization that he'd lost his brother, forever. Now that Dean was back, he couldn't fight the images any longer. He knew that he'd pay for it later because he'd never again have this closeness with Dean, but he'd deal with that. First and foremost, Sam needed to get off, as hard and as often as he could, so he would never 'accost' his beloved brother again with his desires.

Playing with his foreskin the way Dean loved to tease him, Sam soon needed more. He imagined Dean's mouth on him, but the mental picture and physical sensation didn't match. It turned him on for a while before he settled on Dean stroking him off. His brother's strong and confident hands were working him with an occasional twist on the upstroke that made Sam's breath catch in his throat. "Yes, yes," he whispered urgently as he got closer.

His back arched as Sam dug his heels into the mattress. The image in his mind changed again. Now he was bringing himself off with Dean watching. The first time his brother had asked him to do himself, Dean had had a sprained wrist and a split lip. Sam had been torn between embarrassment and ecstasy when he'd found himself naked on his back, his hand on his dick with his brother watching. On one hand, he hated to be seen, to be observed pleasuring himself, even though it was Dean with him, who'd watched him getting off countless times – but never by his own hand. On the other hand, his brother's hungry look was so arousing that Sam didn't know what had hit him.

"Gods, Dean," he panted. "Gonna... Gonna cum for you, so hard..." 

Sam tried to hear Dean's voice in his head, spurring him on. Instead, he heard the soft snick of the lock to their room. Opening his eyes, he found that his brother was standing at the bed, staring down on him, eyes wide with arousal. Sam's eyes wandered lower, and the bulge at Dean's crotch was so huge that it must be painful.

_"Jesus, Sammy. Do you need me to fuck you...?"_

Sam pressed down on his dick so hard that it brought tears to his eyes, but he succeeded in averting his imminent climax. "Yes," he groaned. "I need you to fuck me. Gods, Dean!"

He sat up on the bed before Dean and undid his fly. His brother didn't move as Sam pulled his leaking erection out. For a moment, Sam wondered if Dean was paralyzed with need before he bent forward and swallowed him down to the root. Immediately lost in the endorphin rush, Sam began to suck and lick as if his life depended on it. 

His brother had fully returned to him, and Sam couldn't wait to feel Dean's love deep inside his body.

* * *

The second Dean realized Sam had seen his erection despite his attempt to cover himself, his brother sat up on the bed. His hands scrabbled at Dean's jeans, undoing his belt and then his button and zipper, shoving his boxers down just enough to draw out his cock... and then swallow it. Dean gasped so loudly it was like it rasped the air. Powerful suction pulled against his hard cock, and his knees nearly buckled.

This was crazy! Sam, sucking dick like a bitch? And he was damned good at it. It was bizarre how good. Dean couldn't remember being that sensitive. Sam's tongue seemed to hit very single nerve ending; if it didn't stop, he was going to cum... in his brother's mouth!

Pushing Sam back, Dean growled, "Enough!" There was no way he'd contemplate looking at Sam while they did... this. "Get on your knees. And if you want prep, you'll have to do it yourself." 'Prep?' Again, that was one huge WTF. He supposed that when dudes did it, they had to... do something. He couldn't bring himself to think about it. "You've got... something? Supplies...?"

Shit, this sucked! He didn't even have the words. So why was he still hard? And he was. Raging. Hard. His body _wanted_ this. Dean gritted his teeth and waited for Sam to turn the fuck over.

* * *

The taste of him! Sam was reluctant to let go of Dean's dick, but his brother's words hit him like a freight train: he needed to prep himself.

"Yes, I've got... supplies..." Sam's brain kicked in and he got up from the bed to fish the lube from his duffel. Sinking back onto the mattress on his back, he spread his legs, then squeezed a dollop of the slick substance on his fingers and rubbed it over his entrance, moaning wantonly when he slid first one, then a second finger inside himself. Careful not to graze his pleasure spot, he added a third finger, stretching and scissoring. 

In earlier times, Dean would have taken his time to prepare Sam until Sam begged to be fucked, but today, he couldn't wait that long. For some reason, Dean wanted him on all fours, not face to face, and after adding another blob of lubricant, Sam knelt on the bed, breathing hard.

"Please, Dean, I'm all ready for you. _Do it."_

* * *

While Sam did... whatever... Dean looked anywhere else. He hadn't intended to, but, to cover the sounds that made his ears burn, squishing and squelching and Sam's grunts and groans, he toed his boots off, dropped his pants to the floor. Then Sam pronounced himself ready. 

Stalling, though his dick was straining upwards like it knew something Dean didn't, he choked out, "Are you sure?"

And yet, there he was, right behind Sam with his upturned ass and spread knees and shiny little hole. He was salivating... over sex, sure but... why with his brother? Fine, he had to be... excited, for this to work, obviously. Dean could barely remember what sex felt like, with another person. He knew he'd been promiscuous even for a man, and in Hell-time it had been a lifetime. It was like he'd never done it, though. What?!

Closer, closer, now his hands were reaching, touching, he had Sam by the hips and be damned if he wasn't panting like he'd been running. Flashes of heat and chills chased themselves all over Dean's body. Aw, hell! Now he was guiding himself, hand wrapped around his throbbing, swollen cock, lining up... Tears rose in his eyes... he couldn't... 

Apparently, he could. Sam arched and just like that, either the sight or scent or Sam begging him to "Do it", something triggered and Dean slammed his hips forward. Heat surrounded and sucked at his dick. Friction like he couldn't even have imagined rippled, and he had to bury himself till his loins were flush against Sam's spread cheeks and their balls were smacked together. The sounds that came from Sam! He sounded like he'd die, they both did, from pleasure or pain. 

"Gonna fuck you so good, give you what you want, make you my bitch... Such a hot lay, a hot tight wet little hole." Dean was babbling filth and couldn't shut it off, any more than he could stop fucking now that he had crossed that line. Sam wanted him? He was going to have to take all of it. 

* * *

"Ohgodohgodohgod..." Sam whimpered when Dean lined up. Unable to wait, he pushed back, and Dean reacted immediately by slamming into him to the hilt. The burn of being suddenly stretched far wider than he'd prepared for felt incredible. Oh god, how he'd missed this, feeling Dean filling him, his brother's balls slapping against him.

Sam rolled his hips, grinding down, desperate to make Dean move. He'd been close when he'd been interrupted by the unexpected return, and he already felt a fluttering of his hole that indicated that he wouldn't need long to cum.

"Dean, please, _please_ move!" Sam whined. Dean was babbling, promising to give Sam all he had. Sam was about to call out that Dean should fuck him instead of talking, but his body had a better idea. Pushing forward on his knees, Sam moved until his brother almost slipped out, then slammed back hard, gasping when Dean's erection dragged over his prostate.

"Please, I need you to move _now!"_

* * *

He'd been trying to control himself, trying not to move, maybe if he just stopped he could muster the power to pull out and back away. It was useless. Before him, under him, Sam arched and writhed, pushed and pulled with his body. Dean's cock slid nearly out of Sam, but before it could fall free, Sam bucked backward and, lube slicking the way, impaled himself again. 

He begged Dean to move, move as in give it to him. Frantic, was what Sam was, needing so bad, crazed with lust. Maybe... Maybe in their hunters' life, this was all there was for Sam. Dean had picked up random chicks since his teens, getting off for a night and never seeing them again. But Sam never had, he didn't seem to be capable of casual sex. Dean couldn't condemn the man for not being satisfied with only his right hand for life. That had to be it – Dean was the only person Sam knew well enough to allow himself sex with. Poor bastard. If Sam would only shut the hell up, not enjoy it so goddamned much! 

And... Sam's long back and limbs working hard, muscles shifting, his hole squeezing so tight around Dean's dick, the obvious want in every move, it shouldn't have, but it all added to Dean's own physical needs. No, he couldn't control it when his hips jerked forward and back, first in response to Sam's movements below him. 

After the first couple of thrusts, Dean was so beyond any sort of restraint. Was fucking his brother like he was born to it. One shove at a time, he pushed Sam across the bed, forcing his thighs wider, snugging up behind him. Dean's hips were alive with the deeply satisfying rhythm, the totally graphic movements of his thrusting. "Hhng! Hhng! Nnnngh!" He grunted with effort; sweat sprang up and poured from him. His hands knew where to go on Sam's naked body to hold him, to make him take it... Only, no matter how hard he thrust, Sam only spread wider, arched more sharply, found a way to let him in deeper. 

Bending forward, Dean forced Sam's head down into the mattress. "How d'you like that, huh, _brother?_ " he panted harshly, ramming home again and again. He licked the light new sweat from Sam's back, ran his tongue up his spine, and bit into the thick muscle of his trapezius. This time he pulled back slowly, just far enough so that Sam's oiled rim clung every inch of his shaft on the way, slipping over the fluttering veins, into the fissure, the flared edge of the head. "Didn't know it'd be so hot..." 

Not at all! He'd figured on pain and stink and things to be awkward as fuck. If it hurt Sam, he must like it that way, and his body seemed to know exactly what to do. As did his. Dean rocked his hips a few times before allowing the full depth again. The otherworldly pleasure overtook him then, and he was rutting like a wild thing, fucking and loving and _breeding_ was what it felt like, as if their cum would move heaven and Hell. 

So confused! Dean would have been sick again and puking his guts if not for the shockwave of pleasure spiking in his whole body. He held on tight to his brother's hipbones and rode him as if Lucifer himself were after them. He couldn't even hear himself screaming.

* * *

"Dean, Dean!" When his brother's need hit and he thrust deep and hard, Sam went along with the moves as well as he could. He wasn't going to last, not with Dean so deep and hot inside him!

"Ah, ah, ah! Nnnnhhhh!" Close to bursting, Sam reached for his erection and started fisting himself fiercely. Just when he thought he'd reached the edge between his strokes and Dean pummeling his prostate, his brother slowed down and asked him how he liked that. 

Seriously? Sam was beyond words, too far gone to even beg Dean to continue. Thank goodness, Dean seemed to recognize Sam's need. Or his own. Or both. With his last functioning brain cell, Sam hoped it was the latter as Dean took up thrusting again, pushing deeper and deeper, as if he intended to disembowel his brother.

"God, yes, please, Dean, please, give it to me..." Sam's body was on fire. His balls, the base of his spine, even his _toenails_ were tingling with pleasure as he felt his climax approaching like a freight train.

One final breath and he'd be there. Sam inhaled it, and then...

_"Dean!!!! I love you!!! Deaannnuuhhhh...."_

* * *

Oh. And what had he thought, that Sam wouldn't cum from this, that he's just call enough after a while or after Dean had got off? Sam had his arm curled underneath his belly, jacking himself like a wild man. Between his own all-too-loud bellows of pleasure and distress, Dean heard it: 

_"Dean... I love you!!!"_

And more of his brother's ravenous groans filled the room. Hell, the poor schmucks running the place could probably hear them at the office on the other end of the motel. Gasping for breath, Dean rode Sam's ass harder; he pushed himself upright and made the slides as long as he could. Would he ever cum? He was so close, but he couldn't seem to get past the velvet knife-edge of orgasm. 

Sam had no such problems. The tight channel he was buried in spasmed all around his dick, and be damned if it wasn't like fucking and being deep-throated at the same time. Dean looked down to where they were joined, so aroused and furious at the same time and then, he simply could not help himself. Dean pumped in and out, faster and faster, till finally his burning balls broke and he unloaded it all into his writhing, keening cock-slut of a brother.

"Saaammmmeeeeee.... God, oh god, fuck..." Sam had screeched that he loved Dean, but Dean couldn't do it. Sure, he loved his only brother, but this? Sex wasn't love, especially not when it was all fucked up and broken like this. In not saying it, Dean got a sense he'd just denied himself something intrinsic and important. He was empty from spurting himself dry, and the hollow in his chest where he reckoned his heart was supposed to be was worse. Again, he eyes filled and... 

_Sam Winchester cries his way through sex!_

Where had that come from? It was a memory, but he couldn't place it. And he couldn't face what they'd just done. Dean held himself still for a long moment. What he could do? Run like a coward? Babble about his feelings like some touchy-feely pansy? How dare Sam ask this of him? Well, he'd given in, in the name of what, he couldn't consider. Finally, he pulled his shrunken meat free, trying to ignore the gush of his own spunk running down Sam's thigh and what it meant. He slapped that upturned butt hard. "Time to go, Sam. Get yourself decent." 

Dean gathered his clothes and all but ran to the bathroom. Shit, the evidence and the scent were all over him. Bracing his hands on the sink, Dean looked at himself in the mirror: red-rimmed eyes like holes in his face, black circles below. That fucking handprint on his shoulder – who owned him now? – the black sun-and-star tattoo that he'd somehow retained. His body, unfamiliar in its scarless-ness. All he had now was the slice on his left forearm where he'd cut himself with Bobby's silver knife. 

Fuck, who and what was he now? His brother's lover – no, his fucker. Dean raised his fist and bashed it into the mirror. 

* * *

The slap on his butt was like an ice-cold shower. Before Sam could react, Dean had left the room, his order to 'get decent' hanging in the air. What the Hell had just happened? 

Sam's body was shaking in the aftermath of coming incredibly hard from his brother finally giving him what he needed so badly. Although his brain was still dazed with post-orgasmic euphoria, there was the ominous feeling that a major catastrophe was imminent.

Before he could figure out what was going on, however, Sam heard a crash from the bathroom that was followed by the sound of splintering and falling glass. He suddenly remembered how Dean had smashed his hand against the wall in the restrooms at the diner only a few hours ago. 

"Dean?"

Silence.

Sam got on his feet and reached the bathroom in two strides. The door wasn't locked, and he pushed it open, stopping in his tracks when he saw his brother leaning against the sink under the broken mirror. 

"Dean!" Sam yelled as he stared helplessly at Dean's hand, which was covered in – way too much – blood. "What's wrong with you? Are you trying to fucking kill yourself?"

* * *

Through the red haze, came Sam's enraged voice, demanding to know if Dean was trying to kill himself. Sam was right next to him, pissed as Hell, eyes darting from Dean's bloody knuckles to his face, and back. Shit. This was way worse than earlier. Until he'd already lashed out, he hadn't even remembered the incident after breakfast. 

"No, no thoughts in that direction." Dean tried to make his voice as cutting as the glass, but it just sounded pathetic. "I... I... I couldn't stand to look at myself." He couldn't look at his brother, either, all looming over him, crowding his space, smelling like semen and... and Dean. Jesus Christ, what had he been thinking? Downstairs brain? There'd been some thought process about getting Sam off, more pity-fuck than anything, and that had backfired spectacularly. "You screamed that you love me. Like, like I'm your boyfriend or something, or your wife," he spat accusingly. 

Was he? Before Hell, had they been carrying on in some incest-y... No! No way! Dean wouldn't have been that desperate. That stupid. It was wrong! Even more wrong than two guys doing it. His brain was quick to remind him of the last fifteen minutes. Dean winced, the pain much more than physical, as he picked a triangular shard of mirror glass from between his first and second knuckles. The ooze of blood turned into a trickle. 

God, he sucked. It wasn't Sam's fault for needing sex – who didn't? – but his, for agreeing to... that. There hadn't been any pressure applied, no bargaining or trading needed. He'd just whipped it out and _did it._ Ran his mouth about claiming his bitch, what the fucking fuck was that? Having seen so much of Sam, like that, how could Dean ever look at him again? From nowhere, he had a flash behind his eyes of Sam, maybe two or three years ago and also naked and hard but on his back, under Dean. From his expression, he was having the best sex of his life. There was no sound, but Sam's swollen lips moved, the words easily readable; he mouthed, 'I love you, Dean', and then his head was back, he was cumming, body shaking and long throat working and Dean would have sworn that for an instant he could feel the spurts of hot spunk against his own chest and stomach and _he loved it_.

Sidling away, Dean moved as far from Sam as he could in the small space, keeping his hand over the sink. It wouldn't do to bleed all over his new clothes. He almost asked Sam to tell him all of it, but he couldn't. He didn't want to know. "I shouldn't have done that. It just... happened. Sorry, Sam. If you could get the first aid kit, I'll take care of it."

* * *

Sam could only stare, open-mouthed, at his brother. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Disgust. _"I... I... I couldn't stand to look at myself."_

Accusation. _"You screamed that you love me. Like, like I'm your boyfriend or something, or your wife."_

Shame. _"I shouldn't have done that. It just... happened. Sorry, Sam."_

Denial. _"If you could get the first aid kit, I'll take care of it."_

Sam opened his mouth, but no words came out; he was too stunned to even speak – which in itself was impossible: according to Dean, nothing, _nothing_ , could ever make Sam shut up. Well, apparently, now Dean had found a way. Sam felt as if Dean would be happy to shut him up forever.

Hot bile rose in his throat, and he clenched his teeth. No way was he going to show any sign of weakness in the presence of the man whose seemingly only aim was to hurt Sam. If there had been any doubt that this was not his brother who'd returned from Hell, Sam knew for sure now. Who else but somebody from Hell could inflict so much pain on another human? Even if Dean didn't remember Sam, he could at least try to understand that Sam was hurt. Besides, only a few minutes ago, Dean hadn't seemed to mind their closeness at all...

These thoughts didn't lead anywhere. "Sure," Sam choked out and fled from the small cubicle, thanking the powers that be that Dean stayed behind with his bleeding hand poised over the sink. He rummaged through his bag and found the first aid kit. Unable to even approach the bathroom, he threw the kit into the sink, startling Dean, but he missed anything following the initial reaction because he quickly slammed the bathroom door shut.

Close to a panic attack, Sam slipped into his jeans and a shirt, then into his boots without bothering to put on socks or to tie the laces. He grabbed his jacket and ran.

It was only when his lungs started burning – which took quite some time, given his excellent physical condition – that Sam slowed down. A quick inventory showed him that he didn't carry any weapons. There was no knife in his boot, nor a gun in his jacket. Shit. Dean would kill him, he thought, then laughed without humor. Maybe that wasn't the worst idea: Sam wasn't sure if he wanted – hell, if he _could_ continue – to live like this.

As a hunter, he'd always been alone except for Dean's company and love – which had now turned into hatred and disgust from his brother's side. Suddenly Sam wished that Dean hadn't returned – and he immediately felt guilty for it. 

He had to face it: he was a useless mess. Normal people would talk to a friend in such a situation. It was what he always recommended to the normal people he had to deal with if a loved one had been lost to a monster. Now that _his only_ loved one had been lost to a monster, Sam desperately wished he had someone to talk to. 

He froze. There was someone... After dialing her number, Sam started speaking the second Ruby picked up the phone.

"Please, I need your help. I need someone to talk to, and you're the only one who'll listen..."

* * *

Sam had nothing to say. Unbelievable, but a relief. It did sting a little, though, since talking and talking was Sam's way of expressing his concern. Okay, Dean thought, the silent treatment. Whatever. He could live with it. 

Only... Sam threw the first aid kit at him, and it landed in the sink amidst the glittering shards and his crimson blood. Dean swore under his breath, louder after his brother, apparently in a towering rage, slammed the door shut behind him. He could hear Sam rustling around, stomping out of their room with another, even louder, door-slam. Wow, he was royally pissed. What did he expect? Cuddling? Maybe Dean was being a baby about it, but he wanted Sam there, to bandage or stitch him, and... comfort him. For god's sake – stop it, Dean! What's the matter with you?! 

It took a good twenty minutes to pick out the glass and close the worst of the cuts with butterfly strips. It hurt like a bitch – all those nerve endings. He couldn't very well stitch himself with his off hand. Well, he reflected, only a few days back and already he was making more scars for himself. 

Sam still hadn't come back. What had he gotten up to? He hadn't taken the Impala – Dean would have heard it. Now what? Sam could take care of himself, but... Dean still felt responsible in some residual way. He was the older brother. If he counted his Hell years, he was a LOT older. Debating for a while, and getting himself fully dressed, Dean noticed Sam's knife and handgun on the bed. Dumb ass! Did he even have his phone? He'd just have to go find him. 

Taking his keys, weaponry, phone AND wallet, Dean took off and once again, in search of his brother. It didn't feel right, sitting in the front seat without Sam's sprawling body and long arms and legs taking up all the extra space. He... Missed Sam. Pulling out his phone, he found Sam's listing in his short directory – Bobby, Sam, and Ruby – and pressed 'Send'. 

* * *

Sam had already finished several sentences by the time he realized that he'd only reached Ruby's voice-mail. Interrupting himself, he left her an urgent message to call him back and thumbed the 'end call' button. He looked around in the hope of getting his bearings. If he had no idea where he was, he wouldn't be able to instruct Ruby where to pick him up. Nothing looked familiar.

When it occurred to him that the GPS on his phone would tell him, Sam cheered up first, then frowned. It meant that Dean could also track him down via his cell, and Sam had no intention of being found by his brother. He was about to switch the phone off when it rang. Caller ID showed him an unknown number, but he knew this had to be Dean. Biting down hard on his lower lip, Sam switched the phone off.

Where he'd panicked a few minutes ago, he now felt so collected that it was almost scaring him. Just in case Dean was already working on locating him, he needed to get away from here quickly. Sam estimated he'd be safe for maybe another fifteen minutes, but the sooner he was gone, the better.

There was a small corner shop, one of these places that looked like nothing and sold everything. The owner was an older Russian man. He was clearly paranoid, but Sam managed to convince him that he wasn't with immigration or the police. He'd left his wallet behind at the motel, but there was some cash left in his jacket pocket, and it took practically no time to persuade the man to sell him a fifth of vodka. While the shopkeeper was busy in the back of the store fetching the bottle from his stash – he obviously had no license to sell alcohol – Sam stole a cheap pre-paid cell phone. He felt guilty for it but his money wouldn't have been enough, so he tried to leave the remainder of his cash with the guy, but the man wouldn't take it: he told Sam that Sam was a good boy and sent him off after a hearty embrace.

Out of the shop, Sam took off down one of the smaller roads. At a traffic light, he switched his old cell on again and threw it on the bed of a pickup waiting for green light. Its license plate wasn't a local one and he hoped that it would throw Dean off track. Changing direction, he ran for another twenty minutes until he was so out of breath that he needed a break.

Sam's fingers were trembling when he dialed Ruby's number from his new cell. _Please be there,_ he thought in his mind, pushing aside the idea that he was kind of praying to a demon, while he waited for her to pick up.

* * *

Forty-five minutes of driving around, burning up precious gas, and no sign of Sam. He'd been up the main drag, through the downtown, around the perimeter where there were some derelict houses, all the while looking right and left and right again, trying to spot his brother's recognizable tall form. Every ten minutes, he called Sam's cell... Nothing. Locating him by GPS was a bust – according to the read on the miniscule screen, Sam was heading northeast at 67 miles per hour. So either he'd hitched a ride in the wrong direction, which Dean doubted, or he'd chucked his phone into a passing vehicle. Wouldn't be the first time. It was by force of will that Dean didn't give into the urge to become frantic. He took deep breaths to calm his wildly beating heart. Every so often, he remembered to cuss Sam out for causing this misery.

Other than the admiring looks at his Baby, Dean was not happy about the waste of time and resources. His hand hurt. His head hurt. His balls... never mind. He noticed that the town had at least four bars, or at least he'd seen that many. Tempting as it was, he opted to head back to the room. First, he stopped for snacks at a corner store with a dirty awning in English and he assumed Russian, with Cyrillic letters. Beef jerky, three kinds of individual pies, food of the gods. He considered the granola bars for a second. No, the bitch could get his own. The stooped old guy behind the counter couldn't speak more than ten words of English. Impatient, needing to continue the search, Dean handed him bills closest to the nearest dollar and motioned for him to keep the change.

Sam really had left with nothing but the clothes hastily thrown on his back. His dirty socks lay in two sloppy rolls near the bed. What if he was cold? Or, what if he'd forgotten to put fresh socks on and had developed blisters? That was Sam's damn problem, now wasn't it? Dean wasn't his mother. Or, despite what some might say, his keeper. But... what about the things besides 'brother' that he somehow found himself part of now, all because he couldn't keep it in his pants? Story of his life. Like the time he got crabs from that truck-stop waitress in Butte, Montana. He'd had the choice of a very long date with a little wire comb and toxic chemicals, or get rid of the critters' residence. He'd... no, not he. Sam. _Sam_ had donned elbow length gloves and shaved him bald down there: front, back, undercarriage, and...

Ohgodholyshitmotherfucker, it was true! Dean had been in the middle of a bemused sort of 'damned if I wasn't young and dumb' recollection, when it hit him so hard he fell into the nearest chair, banging his hand hard against the lumpy borders of Sam's abandoned backpack. Okay, maybe it was only that Sam had been helping him out. Man can't be expected to shave his own taint, right? That wasn't all Sam did to him, though, as the memory stubbornly refused to fade. After they were finished with the extreme man-scaping, he'd... he'd... how could Dean have let him... and the mental imagery showed him _enjoying_ every moment of it, if the massive hard-on, tiny peaked nipples and the way he was shimmying like a whore, upright on his widespread knees, head thrown back while Sam took him from behind...Wait, how could he see...? Oh. Mirror. He would never... and if he did, out of dire necessity or some shit, it wouldn't be like _that!_ Not just what they were doing but what he was feeling! Then, or whatever alternate universe it had existed in, he loved his brother. LOOOOOOVED his brother. Was in love. Like never before. Like... so incredibly, deeply joined with this person, with his, _his Sammy_ , it was like they were one unit.

Which was ridiculous. They were a team. They were two people. Two men. Even married, heterosexual couples couldn't feel so 'one'. It was impossible. And in their case, incestuous. Dean wanted to throw up in his mouth, but kept it down. Furthermore, he tamped those unbidden feelings down as far as he could. They couldn't be. Even if he'd wanted them to be. For just a second.

It had to be Alastair. At first, the demon had used Sam against him, dragging parts of Dean's psyche into the arena to play with along with his various body parts. The only way to stop it had been to wall Sam, everything that was associated with Sam, away. This had to be a parting shot, implanting false memories in his mind, to make him go off his rocker. Or, maybe this Castiel had done something besides brand him with a handprint. No one knew his/her/its agenda. Finding himself curled up in the chair, knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around his shins, rocking himself, Dean slowly forced his limbs to relax the iron hold of the position and got his feet back to the floor.

He would research. That's what he could do. Just because no one had found any good intel yet didn't mean it wasn't out there. Sam's computer was right there, he'd have a look, too. Either Sam would come back when he was ready or Dean would go looking for him later. Having decided, finally, on a course of action, Dean unzipped the outside pocket of the backpack and pulled out Sam's laptop.

Meanwhile, he'd drink. And wait for his stupid erection to go away.

* * *

Sam Winchester again, not fifteen minutes after the first time he'd tried. It had to be. And _that_ only an hour at most after she'd dropped him off, sure it would be weeks before he'd agree to be in the same room with her again. His 'message', when she'd retrieved it, was high-speed babbling; he'd been too distraught to realize for a few seconds it was her voice mail he was speaking to.

And a distraught Sam Winchester meant one thing: Dean Winchester was the cause of it. She'd proven early she was could be friend, shrink, teacher, and – she grinned gleefully – _lover_ in Dean's stead, now couldn't she? It gave her pleasure to think of how horrible this was going for the brothers, and that all that time Sam had spent in mourning, futilely doing everything he could thinking to get Dean out, was now turning to shit. It gave her access to Sam's body and mind along with his psychic powers and that was all she cared about.

Ruby picked up on the second ring. Though the number was screened, how fast hunters changed phones was just one thing she'd learned over the past months. Fine, she'd spare him the eternity of calling again and again, listening to endless ringing. This time. "Hello, this is Ruby. What's going on, Sam?"

* * *

"Ruby! Oh god, thank you!" Sam was so relieved that he didn't know what to say for a moment. "I... I need..." He swallowed. "Can... can we meet?"

His heart was racing as he waited for her reply. How on earth had he managed to get himself into this impossible situation? Sam had sworn to himself that he wouldn't tell Dean about their – sexual – past, but when Dean had returned and offered to make love to him... No, strike that, Dean had offered to _fuck_ him, but still, Sam had thought that his brother remembered. Their coupling had been fierce, desperate, and he'd been so sure that Dean had felt the same need to become one with him that Sam had.

How could he have been so wrong? While he was resting in a post-orgasmic haze, his heart filled with love, Dean had panicked over what they'd done, his regret and disgust so strong that he'd hurt himself. Instead of staying and taking care of his brother's – this time real – need and his confused state of mind, he'd run. 

And he was still running. Sam knew that if he had to face Dean, he'd have to face the fact that his brother didn't love him any longer, that the love would never return, that Dean's love had turned into loathing. He wasn't ready for that!

"Ruby? Please, I need your help," Sam begged.

* * *

"Calm down, Sam," Ruby tried for a soothing voice. Knowing him, it wouldn't help much. "We can meet if you want, I'm at loose ends right now."

Actually, she'd been about to use a little-known incantation to try to scry some of the lesser demons she thought might still be around, but that was none of Sam's concern. Since it needed blood, she was glad not to have started.

"Of course I'll help you, if I can. But you know... You weren't exactly happy with me earlier." She left that hanging between them. 

* * *

"You're the only friend I've got left," Sam blurted out. Before he could think of what he actually wanted to say, however, her words hit him and he stopped in his tracks.

_"You weren't exactly happy with me earlier."_

It was true. He'd freaked after having had sex with her, sex that he didn't want to have, and he was still at a loss why they'd done it except that he'd _needed_ it.

And wasn't this exactly what had happened to Dean, too: his brother had freaked after having had sex with Sam, something which Sam was sure of now that Dean had never intended.

He'd freaked over the same thing Dean had! He was such a loser, a fucking hypocrite...

The car hit him out of nowhere.

* * *

The call cut out mid-sentence. Ruby considered calling Sam back for a second, then decided against it. The guy was totally overwrought, and she wasn't so good at dealing with humans these days beyond using, insulting, or killing them. It would be better if he dealt with his messy emotions on his own. 

Briefly, she spared the thought that something bad, even fatal might have happened to Sam. It would be a such a waste, after the time and blood she'd invested in him. Plus, he still had her knife. If it came to it, there was always the other Winchester. Now _that_ would be a challenge. 

Well, she'd find out, sooner or later. For now, Ruby decided, she'd go back to her original plans for the day.

* * *

Before he even opened his eyes, he knew he was going to be sick. Everything was moving, spinning around him, and he had no idea what was going on. When he finally managed to open his eyes, the crazy wobbling turned into a gentle swaying. Slowly, his eyes regained their focus and he saw a woman looking at him concernedly.

"Hi there," she said. "My name is Merle and I'm an EMT. You were hit by a car when you were standing in the middle of the road. We think you have a concussion and we're taking you to the hospital. Can you tell me your name?"

He tried to nod, but he couldn't move his neck. 

Merle noticed his rising panic. "We put you in a cervical collar. It's just a precaution. We already know that you can move your hands and feet, so please try to stay calm." She smiled at him.

It wasn't right. There shouldn't be paramedics taking care of him when he was injured but... "Dean," he croaked.

"You're Dean?"

"No... want... need Dean...." 

"You want us to call Dean," the woman – what was her name again? – confirmed. "Do you have his number in your cell?"

"Yes, please." He was longing for Dean so hard that he almost felt it physically. Or was the pain in his chest also from an injury?

"We recovered your cell and we'll call him. Just let us get on our way first..."

He tried to nod, but like before he found himself blocked by the collar. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the world dissolved into swirling colors and nausea.

Merle noted the name 'Dean' on the call sheet while the ambulance took off to the nearest ER. Then she scrolled through the contact list of the cell. Dean was easy to find as there were only two numbers. Returning her eyes to her patient, she thumbed the dial button.

* * *

An hour later and nothing gained but his ass starting to fall asleep from sitting, Dean's phone rang. He should have been accustomed enough to changing ringtones but it still took him by surprise and he accidentally hit the 'backspace' button. "Dammit." 

He'd reactivated his old email account, deansbig.45@rockinursox.com and had been in the process of writing a message to the professor of ancient religions who'd published an online piece that contained a possible lead. Now he'd have to start over. 

"Hello?" 

The voice was a woman's, probably not quite middle-aged, who introduced herself as a paramedic. Why would she be calling him? Dean was about to tell her that she had the wrong number, but when he started to speak over her, she immediately asked him if he was Dean and when he confirmed, told him Sam had been hit by a car. As the words connected to meaning in his brain, Dean was hit by a wall of panic so solid he could barely breathe. Sure, they were pissed at each other right now, and things were beyond awkward, but... NOT THAT! 

"Is he alive?" Dean cut the woman off. He'd almost said, 'dead' instead but couldn't go there. "Where is he?" 

His right hand had drawn his gun, pure instinct. A wave of both physical and psychic pain nearly ran him over and his clumsy, injured fingers dropped the weapon. The woman continued; she thought it might just be a concussion and some scrapes, and they were on their way to the local ER. Too soon to feel any relief. 'Concussion and a few scrapes' had turned sour before, although they'd walked away from much worse, too. Before hanging up, Dean asked for directions to the hospital. The town was small. He'd find it. He would always, _always_ find Sam, whatever other shit happened to them along the way. 

Stuffing his .45 into the waistband of his jeans, Dean grabbed keys, phone and wallet again, and roared out of there. 

Ten minutes later, he screeched into the lot of the two-story brick medical center, following the blue-and-white square 'H' signs – all two of them – and scanned for the Emergency department. The ambulance parked along the west side was a dead give-away. Running in, Dean walked up to the window and asked for his brother, giving his real name. Sam had used his, after all. The nurse, no-nonsense and plain, checked her computer and advised that Sam was in Radiology, then pointed to the waiting area, currently empty, and told Dean to have a seat. Dean tried to sweet-talk his way in, but it did no good so he huffed and paced for a while. Eventually, he sat. And waited... and waited. 

* * *

When he opened his eyes, the glaring light sent stabs of agony to his head, so he immediately closed them again. Running through a quick inventory, Sam thought there were no broken bones. Maybe a couple of cracked ribs, though, breathing hurt. Or, pretty much anything hurt, but his head and his chest were the worst. And the sick feeling rising from his stomach...

Sam felt his head being gently turned sideways, not a second too early before he started retching. When the spasm ended, his face was wiped clean, and he groaned as the cool cloth eased the pain in his head, although his ribs were really on fire now.

"Shall I leave this on for a minute?" a voice asked him. The speaker didn't wait for an answer but arranged the cloth on his forehead.

It felt good, but something was wrong. Why would there be a woman looking after him? It should be...

"Dean!" Sam whispered in alarm and sat up – crying out in pain when he opened his eyes. The world tilted dangerously and the nausea returned. 

"Shh, now you lay down again and I'll go get Dean for you," the woman, whom he now recognized to be a nurse, suggested in a soothing voice. Her hand on his chest looked tiny, but he didn't have the energy to fight when she pushed him back down on the bed.

Nodding his head in agreement sent another stab of fire to his head, and Sam didn't struggle. As soon as he was flat on his back again, he closed his eyes. He felt the cloth being rearranged on his forehead, and then, mercifully, the gray nothing took him away.


	6. Chapter 6

"Dean Winchester?" 

The harried-looking man in the waiting area jumped to his feet before Noah had even finished pronouncing his name.

"Hi, I'm Noah Wyle, the resident in charge of your brother." Noah waited, but Dean Winchester just stared at him. The triage nurse had confided in him that the man gave her the creeps, but Noah thought he was worried out of his mind. Fortunately, he had optimistic news.

"Dean, your brother was involved in a road traffic collision. We suspected a concussion," he'd learned the hard way to never use the correct term 'traumatic brain injury' with relatives, "and that's why we had to perform tests before we could let you see him. We have meanwhile confirmed this diagnosis. The results from a CAT scan and neurologic consult leave us confident that there will be no lasting damage. He's still confused, which is why we're keeping him here for a day or two, but I expect that to clear up soon. Except for a handful of scrapes and bruises otherwise, your brother does not have further injuries. Would you like to see him now?"

* * *

Finally, a man about Dean's age dressed in green scrubs walked through the double doors and asked for him by name. Dean jumped up, impatience making it impossible for him to stand still, and waited for the spiel to be over. Some of the words filtered in: traffic collision, concussion, CAT scan, neuro-something, keeping him for a day or so. As far as 'not serious', Dean prayed that was true but wouldn't believe it till he saw Sam with his own eyes. The doctor finally offered to let him see his brother and Dean bit out, "Yes, take me to him!"

Since it was a small-town facility, better to stay under the radar, they walked down a short corridor, made a right turn, then down a longer one, and arrived at the door to Sam's room in only a couple of minutes. At the last second, Dean nearly quailed. What if Sam was still pissed off at him, and had him tossed by security? But that was stupid, he had provided Dean's number as his contact. Besides, Dean wasn't going to let their... fight... keep him away from his brother when Sam needed him. Someone would need to take care of him, deal with pesky medical staff and so on. 

He also couldn't keep kidding himself. Dean needed Sam just as much right now. Whatever the missing pieces of his puzzle, he had a feeling that Sam was part of them all. Seeing his brother's face scraped up along one side, looking strangely pale and helpless in a hospital gown, Dean was flooded with relief. Acutely, the near-miss hit him. 

"Sam..." he crossed to the side of the bed before he could think twice. There was an IV hooked up: Dean could see the steel needle disappear through the skin over one of Sam's raised veins. A piece of clear tape held it and the attached tubing in place. There were bruises in shades of red, blue, and black on the arm and shoulder, as well as what of the upper part of Sam's chest was visible. His hair was lank, in strings, as if he'd been sweating profusely. "I was worried sick! Are you alright?" 

Dean found himself leaning over the metal rails, looking into Sam's half-lidded, pain-darkened eyes. His hand found Sam's. "When they called me, I thought I'd lost you." His heart beat too fast, making it difficult to get enough air. "I–" swallowing hard, Dean tried to hold in the emotion welling up. This was his little brother. His only brother, his only family, really. He shouldn't have been such an asshole about what they had done. It was all too obvious, even though he couldn't remember much, that it had happened before. Many times. And he'd wanted it. "I'm so sorry, Sam." After that, he choked, and suppressed the urge to hug Sam, hold him on his lap like when they were little, or, oh god, more.

* * *

_"Sam..."_

The voice wove its way through the fog in his brain and Sam opened his eyes, wincing again at the brightness. What he saw made him gasp, and despite the painful light, he knew he'd keep his eyes open, lest his brother disappear again.

"Dean!" he croaked. "Is that... It's you!" The pressure of the hand holding his had to be real. _Please, let it be real!_ He'd been torn between the belief that Dean had returned from Hell and the fear that it was only his wishful thinking. The doctors had explained to him that he was confused – which was true, since he didn't remember what had happened and how he'd ended up here, even though they'd told him he'd been in an accident. What if Dean was still in Hell and Sam only imagined that he had his beloved brother back?

Of course, if Dean had returned for real, then what they'd done – what _Sam_ had done would also be real. He shuddered at the memory of... fucking... Ruby, then letting himself be fucked by Dean. Clearly, his brother hadn't wanted that, and Sam had fled from their motel room. After that, there was a hole in his memories...

Dean was looking at him expectantly and Sam realized that his thoughts had wandered off. _"I was worried sick! Are you alright?"_ Moved by Dean's admission that he was worried, Sam blinked. So maybe his brother didn't hate him for what Sam had done?

"I..." His voice came out thin and reedy and he cleared his throat. "'m not alright, but I will be." With a colossal effort, Sam managed to smile. "Now that you're here." 

His traitorous eyes threatened to close again. Why did every move feel as if he were trapped in a thick, viscous pool of mud? Oh right, he had a head injury...

Sam tried to push his head up on the pillows. The lance of pain he got as a reward for this action made him squeeze his eyes shut once more, but it also left him with a clearer mind. 

"Dean," he began and forced his eyes open again. His brother looked uncomfortable, as if he were ducking his head. Sam knew the posture only too well. It meant that Dean was close to being overwhelmed by emotions he didn't want to show. Sam had never told Dean how easily he could be read as that would have made Dean feel even worse.

"I'm sorry, too. For everything I put you through." He swallowed and coughed a little, wincing as pain bloomed up from his ribs. On seeing Dean's worried look, he said, "They won't give me anything for the pain because of my head. I told them that's okay. I've had worse." He managed another small smile. 

Dean's hand felt so good on his. It was firm and strong, and Sam knew that he could always rely on it, literally and figuratively, to be there for him. He needed to tell his brother that he'd be there for him, too. "Dean. We'll get through this. It was stupid of me to run and I promise I won't run again. We'll figure this out, I swear." 

* * *

"Of course it's me. I would have found you..." Dean recalled his first fruitless search of the day, and stared into his brother's face. He was out of it, by his own admission, in pain, and could barely keep his eyes open. Every move, even just turning his head, made Sam wince. While Dean knew the whole, 'don't sleep after a concussion' thing had been proven a myth, he wondered why they didn't give Sam something. 

"Hey!" he barked at the doctor. He had to look away from Sam for a moment, which didn't make him happy. From the other side of the bed, chart in hand, the doctor was watching them too closely for his comfort. "He says he's suffered worse, but he shouldn't have to. Give him some of the good stuff." The words were as much for Sam as for the resident. 

Not waiting for the answer, Dean squeezed Sam's hand again. Like the rest of him, the hand was huge, with long fingers and calluses from handling various weapons on a daily basis. No one matched him, or could be a partner to him, the way Sam was. What he remembered of it, anyway. From a young age, they'd had the same training, had been taught to work as a unit and understand each other's every signal. They were bonded in every way possible – Dean knew that now. Considering how they'd been raised, he supposed it might have been inevitable.

"Don't apologize, Sammy. I've been... I was a total dick to you. You deserve better. I'm the one who made you suffer by making that deal." Before he babbled too much in the presence of strangers, Dean shut his mouth. So far, he'd managed to use generic concepts but any more and it would get too specific. Sam would know what he meant. He shot another pointed look at Sam's doctor. 

It wasn't the first time Sam had run. He'd first tried it at 11. John had blamed Dean for being lackadaisical in his duties, and had pretty much wiped the floor with his ass. Then there was Stanford, and then that time a couple years back when Sam's powers would make him black out for days at a time. The things he had done were not pretty. Later, they discovered it was partly due to demon possession, and dealt with it. To the point, Dean came after him. With California, it was true he hadn't actually gone there and pulled Sam out until the very last second, but he'd kept tabs on him. And today, he hadn't found Sam immediately, and yes he'd been hurt and angry, but he wasn't about to let his brother go. For any reason. 

More people bustled around Sam, but Dean refused to move. Sam had two sides, after all. Until Sam's eyes closed in sleep, he remained rooted to the spot. Afterwards, he pulled one of the uncomfortable visitors' chairs right next to the bed and determined to stay there, awake, for as long as it took. Mostly, after the first half-hour, it was just him and Sam's deep breathing. The sun crawled across the sky, then slowly sank amidst glowing purple and orange clouds. 

Dean jerked in his seat, fully awake. Something was close...! Oh, it was just Sam. Sam! He was finally stirring. Jumping to his feet, Dean crowded against the rails. Like before, he reached over and took Sam's hand. "Sam? Talk to me, dude. Are you awake?"

* * *

Noah watched his patient from a distance. There was an undercurrent he didn't get. Maybe the triage nurse had been right after all that something was wrong. Sam had asked for Dean as soon as and every time he regained consciousness. However, there was also the observation that Sam had had anal intercourse very recently, as they'd discovered when they'd taken his clothes off. Minor tearing and reddening indicated that there was some force involved, which may or may not have been wanted by Sam.

When Dean Winchester barked that Sam needed more pain medication, Noah winced. "I'm sorry," he explained, "but protocol says he isn't supposed to receive anything but paracetamol, which we already gave him. He's maxed out on that already, and any more of it would put him at risk for liver damage. You could try speaking to the attending, but..." He shrugged. The ER leader, Dr. Terry, prided himself of being old school, and Noah knew that protesting wouldn't get them anywhere. He was ready to break the rules for patients in serious pain and had done so before, but Sam had said he was okay. Unless Sam himself asked for more painkillers, Noah was reluctant to risk his job over it. He felt guilty, but he didn't have much choice in the matter.

Dean continued to speak to Sam, ignoring Noah except for the occasional pointed look, and after a while Noah decided to leave the brothers alone.

* * *

"Dean?" Sam woke as from an incredibly deep sleep to find his brother looking at him. He was aching and his vision was fuzzy. To his surprise, it was dark outside, but he was glad about it as he vaguely remembered the light hurting before... His heart missed a beat. Had he been turned into a vampire? Slowly, his eyes adjusted, and he saw bed rails, an IV pole with a line that ended in his hand. Right, he'd hit his head... 

As if on cue, the throbbing in his temples increased. "Dean," Sam winced, "could you tell Charlie that I want more meds, please? Or tell Ellen; she'll make sure Charlie gives me something good..." 

* * *

Dean waited anxiously for Sam to wake up. His body moved restlessly under the covers, and then his eyes fluttered open. Clearly, Sam was still hurting, and he was also disoriented, if he was asking for Ellen or Charlie. "Sam, don't you remember? This isn't the Roadhouse, you're in the hospital in Pierre, South Dakota." 

Sam winced and Dean lowered his voice. "I came back from Hell, and we went to see Pamela, the psychic." Did he even want to bring up the events following that? All he was getting was a blank stare. "First things first. Do you know me?" Loathe as he was to admit it, Dean couldn't give Sam any pills – he had none. So he pressed the call button on the bed rail and braced himself for the invasion of nurses or whoever. If Sam had asked for medication, it had to be bad, and Dean would handle whatever they threw at him, for Sam's sake. "Tell me where it hurts, Sammy. Your head?" 

* * *

"Oh," was all Sam could say. Looking around, he recognized that Dean was right. This wasn't the Roadhouse. "Wishful thinking then, I guess," he grimaced.

"Dean," he lowered his eyes and rubbed his brother's hand. "I know you. You're my brother and..." Sam hesitated. He'd promised Dean to not remind him of his past so that Dean could recover his memories in his own time. However, it was clear that Dean knew that their relationship had not exactly been normal. He weighed his options and decided that while he would not elaborate on their past, Dean had a right to know about Sam's feelings for him. It was necessary if they wanted to avoid events like the one that had ultimately brought Sam to the hospital in the future.

"My head hurts," Sam admitted and looked up again, tightening his grip on Dean's hand. "But my heart hurts more," he explained softly. "Dean, I love you. As my brother and... in an... unbrotherly way. I'll learn to deal with that, but I don't want to lie to you any longer."

* * *

Dean felt a certain sense of unreality, but when hadn't he, since being back? There was no denying that Sam loved him, was in love with him. Those flashbacks or whatever... they weren't planted. Not when it was so obvious on Sam's exhausted face. Dean knew what Sam was going to say, at least in general terms, but he didn't try to prevent him from expressing his feelings now. 

Unbrotherly. Yeah, no kidding, if they were involved sexually. Dean considered their session earlier that day. He'd been pretty rough. What he been doing? Trying to claim Sam, all that talk about making him his bitch. At the time, he'd been pissed at his own response and what he'd felt was 'being put in that position'. Sam had been begging for it, but really, Dean could have walked away. He should have at least used more lube on himself.

"Sam, I'm sorry I... hurt you. And you don't have to lie. I know. I've remembered at least some of it. What we've done and... How we felt–" His voice cut out. This, this unbrotherly, to use Sam's term again, thing went way back, a lot further than he'd first realized. A memory of Sam's 15-year-old face superimposed itself over the decade-plus-later one for an instant, and Dean was hit with a flash of his corresponding mental state at that time, and it was agony. They'd been lovers that young! For a while, apparently. And he, Dean, had stopped it. His 30-year-old self could logically say that he'd been right to do so, only... It was _them_ , which made it as far from 'right' as it got. Looking down, he saw that he'd been petting the side of Sam's hand with his thumb.

Just at that minute, a nurse, this one tiny and Asian who was probably his age but looked 12 came in with a tray. Dean let go of Sam's hand and spun to the window. He didn't want either of them to see his shaking hands, or the tear that ran down his cheek the second he managed to get his face turned away. While the nurse gave Sam meds and water and ran through a routine check, Dean struggled to get himself together. Earlier, Dr. Wyle had told him they'd keep Sam for a day or two, and now all he wanted was to get him the fuck out of here. Dean didn't 'talk', but he needed to and if it wasn't now, he might never feel the need again.

'Yeah, wonderful timing', he told himself, with Sam's persistent headache, injuries and need to sleep. No, he wouldn't be that selfish. Never-the-less, he came back to the bedside opposite the smooth-faced, black-haired woman and asked, "When can I take him out of here?" Not that it mattered. They'd both left hospitals against doctors' orders before; he wanted an idea of Sam's overall condition. 

* * *

Sam felt giddy. Wasn't _he_ to be the confused one? Yet the way Dean was talking suggested that Sam was at least not the only one who had issues here. "You didn't hurt me," he said softly. "Not with _that_... Um..." Dean was caressing his hand and it felt good. Sam meant to say more, but just then a nurse entered the room with his meds. Assuming that his brother wouldn't want 'this' talk in the presence of a stranger, he shut up.

Dean asked the girl – surely, the nurse must be adult, but she looked just like a teenager – when Sam would be ready to leave, and Sam relaxed. This was Dean taking care of him. All would be well.

"You'll have to ask Dr. Terry," the nurse replied. Sam thought she looked a little nervous now. "I'll let him know that you want to take your brother home." She flashed a quick smile at Dean and rushed out of the room.

"She likes what she's seeing, Dude," Sam couldn't resist saying. "I can totally relate to that." He smiled widely. Maybe the pills he'd just been given made him a little stoned, but he liked the feeling.

* * *

"Sam..." But Dean couldn't help grinning a little. His brother was always bemused by women's reactions to him. Sam looked a little loopy; they must have finally deemed him past danger and fit for some stronger pain meds. That was a good sign. 

"Do you want to get out of here? The nurse looked a little worried about this Dr. Terry. Maybe we want to skip tangling with him." Not that Dean was scared by the prospect of some quack up in his grill. He rather enjoyed butting heads with these know-it-alls. But Sam probably didn't need to see it. He recalled a spectacular blow-out with the ER doctor who'd once given him something like 128 stitches, some in places he didn't want to think about, but who had eventually released him with a bottle of Vicodin and another of KY. "Or do you want to stay?" 

Although he kept an ear tuned on the doorway, not wanting to be walked in on in the middle of something private again, Dean took Sam's hand again. He was overwhelmed with the need to touch more than that. It wouldn't do to get all worked up, though. "Sam. I remember us being really young and... together. And I stopped it. But we were again, later. Probably until the day the hellhound got me, right? Since then, have you found anyone else?" He wasn't trying to lay on a guilt trip, and quickly went on, "I mean, I understand, if you did. You thought I was gone for good, and you needed comfort." 

* * *

"You remembered?" Sam shot up and winced. The pills were taking the edge off the pain, but the sudden move made him feel dizzy and sick again. "And you think I... No way!" Sam gripped Dean's hand as hard as he could. "There'll never be anyone else, Dean." He swallowed hard. "Nobody could comfort me when you were gone and the idea of being with anyone else..." He shuddered – and froze when he remembered what he and Ruby had done only a few hours ago.

Sam froze and cast his eyes down. "Do you think we could, um, talk?" he whispered. "But not here. I can't wait to get the hell out of here. Maybe I should just discharge myself and not wait for the head quack? Will you help me? What if they won't let me go? The younger guy said I hit my head pretty bad. But I want to be with you." Sam set his chin firmly.

* * *

"I was asking. Unless or until you tell me, I have no way of knowing what you do or don't do. Lie back now," Dean said. Sam was gripping his hand so hard, with bruising strength, as if his life depended on it. Something just below the surface niggled at Dean. A series of expressions he couldn't begin to understand ran over Sam's face, beginning with something like outrage and ending with stubbornness. In the middle, Dean would have called what he interpreted as 'stricken', 'shame', 'worry'. He had absolutely no right to be jealous, and Sam had just told him there had been no one else, _would never be anyone else_ , but wouldn't be the first time Sam hadn't told him the whole truth. 

"Let me worry about the quacks, if it comes to that. Okay, you stay here – don't move. I'll go scout the place and figure out how to slip out." Motioning toward the door to Sam's room with his head, Dean was about to leave. At the last minute, he paused. "Whatever it is you need to talk about, I remembered that... I love you, too. In some kind of intensely erotic, naked, definitely unbrotherly sort of way. It was like being branded, what that felt like." Suddenly he remembered the mark on his shoulder and wondered what the hell it could mean. No one and nothing but Sam could claim a piece of him, that much was for damn sure. 

Leaning over the bed rail, Dean threaded his fingers into Sam's hair. He kissed his brother's forehead. Sensing Sam was open to it, Dean took his lips as gently as he could manage. In his taste, the feel of Sam's mouth was... just everything. Earlier, Dean hadn't even kissed him. He'd been lost somewhere in that homophobic terror he'd come back with and some kind of animalistic horniness, and hadn't gone anywhere near intimacy. Now he wanted to crawl up inside Sam's skin, or vice versa. 

Before he could get lost in it, Dean threw a saucy grin and crossed the room to the door. He looked both ways without sticking more than his eyes and nose out, and scuttled out into the hallway, to his right.

* * *

Feeling all warm and fuzzy, Sam smiled when Dean told him he loved him. Although his dick didn't even twitch when Dean mentioned 'intensely erotic, naked, definitely unbrotherly' love, he sighed happily. Then, Dean gave him a kiss that was so tender and caring that Sam thought his heart would melt, and left to find an escape route. 

Oh yes, Sam wanted to get out of the hospital. Dean would take him to a place where they'd be on their own, and then they'd finally talk. Not the kind of talk that always made Dean feel insecure and embarrassed, but Sam would make his brother feel safe and comfortable. Just like he felt now with Dean at his side...

_At his side?_ Sam frowned. Hadn't Dean just sat here holding his hand? Oh, right. He was going to find the Doc for Sam's release papers. Something the nurse had said...

_"I was asking."_ Huh?

"Dean? Um, what was it again you were asking me?" Sam was confused again. "I mean, I'd found..." He corrected himself. "I _thought_ I'd found Jess, but..." He looked around himself. His brother was nowhere to be seen. Maybe Sam had only dreamed that Dean had returned? Or... A cold hand seemed to wrap around his throat. Maybe he'd dreamed everything since... after Yellow Eyes. Dean was in a coma. Sam choked. Had his brother died? Had he had a nervous breakdown? Where was Dad?

Sam's eyes fell on the water glass on the night stand. The nurse had just given him something for his headache. The pain was gone, but so was, apparently, his capacity for thinking. Well, Dean – or dream Dean – had told him to stay put. After years of doing the exact opposite of whatever his brother asked him to do, Sam thought he could surprise Dean by for once doing as he was told.

Giggling at the prospect of the look on Dean's face, Sam rooted around for a comfy spot on the pillow and sighed contentedly as he started drifting again.

* * *

As much as he didn't want to leave Sam right now, did not want him alone and vulnerable, Dean told himself it was temporary. Needed to be done. This would be something like a hunt, eluding the 'bad guys' and escaping. Only, no monster killing. 

The best way to go unnoticed was pretend you belong in whatever setting. No one would mistake him for either a patient or medical personnel, dressed as he was, so Dean straightened up and strode confidently down the corridor, taking mental notes. Luckily, the nurse's station was several rooms away and behind a half-wall. At the other end of the hallway there were double doors marked Staff Only. Maybe it was the OR, or Radiology. 

Or not. On the other side, he found more hallway and doors labeled Storage, Supplies, Janitorial, and Lounge – that had to be the staff locker room. There was also an emergency exit. While he could cover ground fast, Sam was in no condition to. Dean thought back to earlier, to where he had parked and the rough floor plan of the building, what he'd seen of it so far. The Impala was on the opposite side of the building from where he was now. He'd have to do better than that. First filching a handful of Steri-strips and another of self-sticking bandages and shoving them in his pockets, Dean retraced his steps, smiling at an unfamiliar young nurse. He avoided Sam's little Asian nurse and the older guy in a long white lab coat who appeared to be chewing her ass, suppressing a giggle over the horrible 70's porn'stache and matching haircut. 

Soon he was outside, and he found Baby quickly, sense of direction not failing him. Dean started her up and drove around the building slowly, checking for the emergency exit he'd found and for any other doors near Sam's room. There was, if not the main entrance or the ER, then a secondary one, labeled Medical/Surgical Wing. He parked as close as possible, and strolled in. 

No one bothered him. Either he was that good of an actor or the hospital had very lax security. There was Sam's door. The room was dark, no night light anything. What if they'd taken Sam....? He'd barely been gone 20 minutes.

"Sammy... You ready to go?" But Sam was lying on his side, long back to the door with the hospital gown gaping, asleep again. Dean hurried over, undecided over whether he should cover his brother up and wait for him to wake up again on his own, or do it himself. 

* * *

_"You ready to go?"_

Sam yawned and stretched his body. He felt nice and warm – and not at all like getting up and leaving. However, it was Dean asking him if he were ready, so there probably was a good reason to leave. "Can I have another minute?" he murmured sleepily. "And where do you wanna go?"

He yawned again and stretched some more until his feet hit the bedframe. "If we don't have to leave right now," Sam smiled at his brother, "you could join me in bed for a while."

* * *

Yep, someone had given Sam some really good drugs, Dean concluded. Sam was as floppy as a boned fish and he wasn't going anywhere right now. "No, we don't _have_ to. Our room at the motel might be more comfortable, at least it's a queen-sized bed. But I think you're too out of it to walk." 

Dean smiled fondly at his clearly stoned, not-little-at-all younger brother inviting him into his bed. It wasn't much larger than a gurney. Sure, they'd had worse. Not for a lot of years, but he'd bet they had a residual body-consciousness that would allow them to recall the positioning needed to get two large men into one small bed. Still, Sam could barely fit, much less Dean too, crawl up in that? Not likely. "Tempting, Sammy." His voice came out all husky. "But no. Can't be giving those quacks a free show." He reached over and clapped Sam on the upper arm, then left his hand. Like before he'd gone on his little rendezvous mission to fetch the Impala, Dean felt a pulse of intense emotion, and one at his groin. He willed it down, till a better time. 

Not looking forward to spending the rest of the night in a chair or on his feet, Dean told Sam, "For now, I'll stand watch. Baby's close, or clos _er_. You get as much rest as you need." 

* * *

Sam giggled when Dean said he was tempted to join him in bed. Smiling happily, he fell asleep again.

* * *

When Jin-Song passed by Sam Winchester's room, she wasn't sure what to do. Visiting hours were over, but seeing the happy smile on Sam's face and the fond look his older brother gave him, she decided to let them have another minute together.

* * *

"Dean?" Sam opened his eyes. His heart was racing, but he calmed down when he saw his brother still at his bedside with his hand on Sam's arm. "I love you," he mumbled, his eyelids already losing the fight against gravity.

* * *

John Terry couldn't believe his eyes. Visiting hours had ended ninety-three minutes ago, and Dean Winchester still hadn't left. He set his jaw when he noticed the hand caressing Sam Winchester's bicep. Considering his patient's minor rectal injuries, he was tempted to kick both of them out, but the younger brother was suffering from head trauma, and couldn't be released. Yet. As for now...

He approached the men and gave Dean Winchester a stern look. "Visiting hours ended long ago, young man. You can come back tomorrow."

* * *

_Here we go,_ Dean thought to himself, eyeing the doctor, all puffed up with authority, who'd just entered the room. If it came to it, he'd carry Sam out. "Not leaving," he stated, standing up straighter. He laid both hands on the top of Sam's bed rail. "I'm next of kin." He could display 'go to Hell' body language when he wanted to, and he let it fly. He'd have to be careful, though. This was the type of asshole who would delight in calling security, and Dean was packing. As always. So he added, "Our parents are dead, he's not married; I'm his brother."

_Dammit, wake up, Sam!_ Sparing a glance at his sleeping brother, Dean prepared himself for the next five minutes. Sometimes he was grateful for the rigorous training of his youth. When he needed it, 'hunter' surfaced with little effort. 

* * *

"Visiting hours apply to family members, too," Dr. Terry pointed out. "The patients need rest. If you will not leave voluntarily, I will have to call security and have you escorted off the premises."

* * *

"Oh, come on! They don't have such stupid rules in Omaha. What kind of backwards place is this? Don't even try it, or I'll take him out of here right now," Dean blustered. Never mind he had planned to anyway, till Sam had conked out on him – Dr. Porn'stache didn't need to know that. "He can rest better if I'm here. Maybe he's asleep, but he knows." 

* * *

"This," Dr. Terry said, "is the place where your brother is being treated for a traumatic brain injury that could have cost him his life. It can still cost him his life, which is why you are not going to take him out of here. The law states that unless you are your brother's legal custodian, you are not allowed to make such a decision for him. If you insist, you can call this another stupid rule. Regarding visiting hours, these are agreed upon by the hospital board, not by the state of Omaha. Since this is the only hospital in town and, as I have already explained to you, you cannot take your brother away, you only have two options. Leave now or I will call security. I should advise you that having you taken off the premises will likely result in banning you from this place altogether, so that you will not be allowed to visit your brother."

He looked at Dean sternly. "It is your choice. You have thirty seconds."

* * *

What an asshole. Listen to him, lecturing like some high-paid scum attorney about 'the law'. Maybe not in so many words, Dean's only opinion on it was that it didn't apply where he and Sam were concerned. "'Traumatic brain injury'?" Dean repeated. "Last I heard, that's a concussion. You know how many of them I've survived without any medical treatment?" he sneered. 

But, this guy meant business, Dean could see that. He could try convincing. "Look. I'll sit down, be quiet, stay out of the way, and I'll let him sleep. You won't even know I'm here. Okay? He's not going to be happy if he wakes up and I'm not here. You don't want him upset unnecessarily, do you?" 

* * *

"A concussion is the mildest type of a traumatic brain injury. As there is always a risk of a brain bleed, it is mandatory to observe patients for at least 24 hours because such a bleed needs immediate attention or the patient may die." 

Not sure why he bothered trying to explain this to the obvious Neanderthal, Dr. Terry attempted it nevertheless. "It is my duty to make sure that this will not happen to your brother. If you survived many concussions, you have been lucky. That does, however, not protect your brother. Furthermore," he couldn't help adding, "you must be aware that repeated head injuries have serious effects on the mental capabilities, if you take, for instance, professional boxers." 

It was clear that he didn't get through the man's thick skull. There was defiance written all over Dean Winchester's face. 

* * *

Just when Terry opened his mouth, Sam began to stir. "Dean?" he mumbled and broke into a wide smile. "Weren't you going to join me in bed?"

* * *

Dr. Terry saw red. Flipping open his cell phone, he spoke into it. "Security to room 133, please." After another look at Dean Winchester and the storm clouds on his face, he added, "Make that a double detail."

* * *

As he had thought, there was no talking to the arrogant prick. Among other things, he called Dean brain-damaged, more or less, and of course, Security. They'd have a couple minutes if he was lucky. Dean stepped around the bed, grabbing the phone and snapping it in two at the hinge, but the damage was already done. 

He reacted on instinct, adrenaline flooding in. Like every hospital room he'd been unlucky enough to see the inside of, this one had a small, cubicle-sized bathroom attached. Counting on the element of surprise, he shoved the outraged doctor across the room and into the bathroom. The guy fought back but Dean, who had age and training on his side, slammed the door shut and shoved the back of the straight-back chair under the knob. That should hold him for a few minutes. 

"Think you can you walk, Sammy?" Not waiting for an answer, Dean fiddled with the bed rails till he got one side lowered, and leaned over to give Sam his support. "Here... Put your arm around me."

* * *

Right, Dean had explained earlier that the bed was too small for both of them and that Dean wanted him to go somewhere... Sam let himself be pulled up into a sitting position and fell against Dean's chest. "Mmh," he whispered. "My arm around you, yeah, I like that..."

As Dean helped him to his feet, Sam heard angry banging from a door that must lead to a bathroom. There was a chair wedged under the handle and Sam frowned. "Shouldn't we kill that?" he asked. But then, Dean led him to the exit. They met nobody in the hall, and although Sam was admittedly feeling fairly dizzy, playing hide-and-seek with the hospital staff against him and Dean was funny and much nicer than hunting monsters all the time.

It was only when Dean had hustled him outside the building that Sam noticed that he wasn't wearing pants. In fact, he was clad only in one of these silly hospital shirts without any underwear. "Hey, Dean," he giggled, "are you sure you're okay with having my nekkid butt plonked on Baby's seat? Can I drive?"

* * *

They had to move! Easier said than done, with Sam all loose-limbed and giggly. Dean levered him to his feet. Where had his pants gone?! While he regretted leaving Sam's clothes behind, he knew the important items were back in the motel room and his phone had only been a disposable. Without delay, Dean heaved them out the door and down the hallway he'd scoped out before, ignoring the wide-eyed stares of the nurses, other than to wink. Loud bangs and muffled shouting faded behind them, but then he heard booted, running feet approaching and stepped up his pace. Once past the double doors, he pretty much carried Sam through the broom closet and out the side door. As he knew it would, it set off an alarm, but Baby was nearby outside. He'd left the doors unlocked on purpose. 

_"...are you sure you're okay with having my nekkid butt plonked on Baby's seat?"_

Sam grinned up at Dean, said butt already planted on said seat, and Dean flashed him a quick grin back. "Too late if I did. You can clean it later." He knew he'd been fussy about the interior in the past. At the moment, he only cared about getting out of there. Getting himself behind the wheel, he started the engine, relaxing marginally at the familiar roar, and drove as fast as he dared out of the parking lot. 

A few blocks later, Dean slowed and let out his breath. Till then he'd been steady, but now his hands were shaking. He tightened them around the steering wheel and concentrated on getting them to the motel. It was on the other side of town – still not far. "Well, one cluster-fuck avoided, huh Sammy?" Okay, the whole day, his life since Hell was a mess, but they could fix it, as much as they ever did. He hoped. 

Back at the motel, he opened the door while leaving Sam in the front seat for a minute, grabbing a blanket to cover him before pulling him up and helping him inside. Finally, they were alone, behind a locked door. From his earlier exchanges with his brother, it was obvious that Sam was too stoned to talk seriously right now. He probably needed more sleep. Dean walked him to the bed and sat him down. "Sorry I had to drag you out of bed and all that. Especially with no pants. Just wanted you out of there. 'Traumatic brain injury'," he snorted. "How's your grapefruit, Sam?"

* * *

As soon as Dean started the engine, Sam heaved a big sigh and closed his eyes. He was still feeling dizzy, but Dean's driving, even at high speed fleeing from the hospital authorities, lulled him to sleep. It had always been like that: regardless how often he'd been car-sick when Dad had been driving when Sam was little, he'd always felt safe with Dean at the wheel. 

He was still smiling when he awoke, clueless how much time had passed, but hearing Deans voice told Sam that everything was going to be fine. "What's the cluster-fuck we escaped from, Dee?" He vaguely remembered something or someone yelling behind a locked door. "Did we kill it, job done?"

Sam frowned. Hadn't he been sitting in the Impala only a second ago? So why was he sitting on a bed all of a sudden, and in a place he thought he'd never seen before? And why was Dean apologizing for dragging him out of bed when he was actually sitting on the bed? And... _no pants???_

Before he could think of a reply, Dean asked about his grapefruit. Considering that weird things were happening to him, the question probably made sense. 'Brain injury'? Maybe that was the reason... Hm, the reason for what? Oh, Dean had asked him a question... What was it? About... something citrus-y... 

Oh, right. Sam nodded. "Yeah, orange juice would be nice." He beamed at his older brother. "You always take such good care of me."

* * *

"Sorry, Sam, all we have here is... hm, alcohol." On any other day, this wouldn't have caused Dean any sort of pause. Sam definitely ate healthier than Dean did, but they didn't have anything but beer or whatever stash was hidden in the Impala. "Not letting you have any of that right now. There's always tap water, if you're thirsty. But actually, I was asking how your head feels." Dean sat next to Sam and looked into his face. Still stoned off his ass from whatever pills. It would probably take till morning or more to wear off.

"I'll bet you're feeling no pain right now, huh?" he couldn't help smirking. Sam's eyes tracked him fine, although his eyelids were half-mast and his mouth hung open a little. "Tell you what. Let's get you back in bed. It's the middle of the night. You should get more rest. We both should." Dean reached stood up again and pulled the covers down as far as he could, which was as far as to where Sam was sitting. "Come on, Gigantor. Lay down."

Sam was so trusting and childlike, Dean almost felt like he was doing something wrong even touching him. But he couldn't let Sam just sit there till he fell over, possibly banging his head again. They'd have to sleep in the same bed again. This time, it would be only sleep – Dean was feeling the stresses of the day, and now the adrenaline rush had worn off. It was silly that Sam was still in that awful hospital gown, which barely covered him anyway. Dean turned Sam's unresisting body a little, undoing the ties down the back and easing it off.

* * *

Alcohol? Sam scrunched his nose. "Nah, I feel... drunk enough... kinda good, actually. No pain..." He frowned. "Why would I be in pain? I'm here with you..." Sam's frown turned into a radiant smile. "...with you undressing me." He grinned. "Are you gonna take advantage of me?" Sam leered.

Even in his bedraggled state, he knew that something wasn't right. "Dean," he began, "I'm happy. Because you're here. Please tell me that you're real... Are you real?"

Dean finished undressing him and took the hospital – ah yes, right, he'd been in hospital because he'd hit his head... – away. Sam reached out with his arm and touched his brother's chest. "You feel real," he murmured. "Feels good..."

* * *

"I'm here. And I'm real," confirmed Dean. Even if Sam was still not entirely with it, him being back among the living after his four-month – or forty-year – absence might have strained credulity. They'd had a bumpy start, to say the least. Chances were good that Sam didn't remember that right now, didn't remember being hit by a car or the spiraling set of events that had led to his running off on his own. 

"Not trying to take advantage of you," Dean told him. It would be hard not to, with Sam smiling at him with nothing but love in his eyes. It was so much more than Dean deserved. "You just got out of–" When Sam reached for him and laid a hand on his chest, words ground to a halt. Dean closed his eyes, breath hissing, heart pounding. 

He knew he shouldn't. It was too soon and Sam wasn't all there. But Dean didn't want him to think, especially in his current vulnerable state, that he was rejecting him. It would be a lie to say his brother's naked body had no effect on him. He shouldn't be letting Sam sit there, exposed and probably chilled. One glance at Sam's chest told Dean his nipples were hard, but so were Dean's and not from cold. 

"Sammy..." He heard the moan he'd made of the name. Okay fine, dammit, he couldn't resist. Sliding over, Dean wrapped his arms around Sam's chest. Strange, he had forgotten how huge and solid he was, and in the same instant it felt familiar and right. "God, just lay down already! Let me..." Holy shit, his voice was shaking. "Let me... Don't care if we just sleep, gotta hold you, Sam...." 

Earlier, when they'd – had sex? fucked? – it had been raw and rough. It _had_ been undeniably hot, and had served its purpose, he supposed. Now, all he wanted was to take the utmost care. Toeing off his boots, Dean leaned into Sam more, willing him down. 

* * *

Dean wrapped his arms around him and Sam was in heaven. Sleep sounded good and Dean's promise to hold him even better. Somehow they made it on the bed and Sam snuggled against Dean's chest.

"Won't you take that off?" Sam whined. He wanted to feel his brother's skin on his. "Wanna feel you more."

* * *

At Sam's request, Dean's breath hitched, and delicious tingles ran over him. He, too, couldn't wait to feel his brother's skin against his own. "Yeah... You know I don't like to sleep in my clothes." There, he could use that as an excuse, if he needed one in his own mind. 

He had to let go of Sam to undress, which he already hated, but it was necessary. Sliding out of his borrowed jacket, Dean tossed it on the nearby chair. The flannel shirt was next. Since his pistol was still in place at the back of his jeans' waistband, he pulled it out and set it on the bedside table. Then he pulled the tee-shirt he'd bought – had it really only been earlier that day – over his head and off. It seemed like years since Wal-Mart. Sam's eyes took him in, pupils dilated wide. If it were in him to be self-conscious, Dean might have been. There was so much appreciation in Sam's expression. As if the perfection of the form beside him was any less...! 

Reaching for his belt buckle, Dean stood to drop his jeans; he left his boxers on, though. Maybe he leaned a little close, considering his crotch was a lot closer to Sam's face as he was sitting, but his brother didn't complain. "There, happy?" Sam had already said he was happy; the question was a little redundant. Since Sam hadn't shown any interest in going to bed without him, Dean crawled across the bed, maybe a little more slowly, swaying his shoulders and ass side to side, than necessary. Why was he flirting when they really just needed sleep? Quickly, so Sam wouldn't see he was half hard, he slid under the blankets. Smiling, he patted the place beside him. "Get your naked ass over here next to me."

* * *

Sam smiled and scooted closer. He could already feel Dean's body heat, and he was sure that the dizziness he felt now was not caused by the concussion everybody told him he was suffering from, nor by the medication he'd been given. It was as if Dean's body pulled him closer, as if he didn't even have to move...

Suddenly, however, he stopped. There was a memory niggling his brain and he blushed a little. "Dean, I um, could you help me to the bathroom? I think I puked a few times and I want to brush my teeth." 

There was more, but he couldn't remember what exactly was supposed to bother him, and he mentally shrugged the thought off. If it was important, it would return to him. If not, the sooner he could join Dean in bed, the better.

* * *

"Of course, Sam." Dean was out of bed again in an instant, helping Sam to his feet. "Should have thought of it." That would teach him to be over-eager. He could do with brushing his teeth, as well, and probably a quick shower after sweating like a pig, between nerves and effort, in the last half-day. Reminding himself he was taking care of an injured person who still had lapses into an altered state of consciousness, Dean supported Sam again as they made their way across the floor. 

Being in direct contact with Sam's body, their skin pressed together even just along their sides, didn't make it easy. He could stop perving. He could! But Sam was so warm and he wanted it and... _shut up!_ Dean willed his mind and body to be decent. After the way he'd treated Sam before, he had no right, anyway.

Their toiletries were in the bathroom where they'd left them. "Do you need any help, Sam?" Picking up his own toothbrush, Dean squeezed a blob of toothpaste onto the bristles. He kept one eye on Sam to make sure he didn't lose balance, as well as check if he could manage to do what his brain had prompted. Having had several concussions himself over the years – he hadn't been lying to the arrogant Dr. Terry about that – Dean could recall thoughts racing and jumping, and an uncooperative body at times, especially fine motor skills. 

* * *

"I'm good," Sam replied when Dean asked if he needed help. "Although..." He sat down on the toilet seat, "that's better." He finished brushing and rinsed his mouth, then decided he might as well pee. Dean would probably give him crap about peeing sitting down later, but Sam had a feeling that his brother already had tons of winding-up material with him being stoned on painkillers.

"Just taking a wee," he announced and groaned in surprise when the stream leaving his body caused an unpleasant burning sensation. Suddenly, he remembered what had been in the back of his mind earlier.

"Dean," Sam said with a frown, "please confirm to me that we didn't rent this room under the name Winchester."

* * *

Dean finished brushing his teeth, spit, and rinsed out his mouth. He didn't mind Sam pissing with him in the room. They were men after all. No big deal. Although, Sam _was_ sitting down to do it. Like a girl. His smirk turned to a concerned frown when Sam groaned. A painful-sounding groan, not the good kind. 

"You did the registration. I'm assuming you used the fake credit card of the week...? The one we nearly maxed at Wal-Mart. So no, it's not under Winchester but I can't remember the name. Something stupid..." It came to him, and Dean snapped his fingers. "Boaz P. Bonnaducci. How could I forget? Anyway, what's wrong?" He knelt down on the cold tile floor between Sam's knees, grasping Sam's arm. 

* * *

"Oh, Boaz." Sam swallowed. How could he have forgotten? There was a young guy named Boaz who was being ribbed by three female staff in a diner. He'd reminded him of Dean. When the girl Boaz was proposing to blew him off, Sam had wanted to hug him and promise him the world, anything to bring a smile onto the face that looked so much like his brother's...

_"What's wrong?"_

"Uh..." His mind returning to reality, Sam found that although he felt a little more alert now, he still found it hard to concentrate. "Dean, we might need to get out of here. See, when they checked me over at the hospital for other injuries than my head, they noticed I was leaking cum." He blushed. "They gave me a rectal exam and swabbed the inside of my dick with a cotton bud for STD's." Sam winced. 

"Assuming that the monster you locked up in the bathroom was the same Doc who read me the riot act about gay sex, he'll have called the cops on us by now not only for assault but also for incest." Sam explained. "Unless my memory fails me here, you were holding my hand and I was making bedroom eyes at you... and asking you to come to bed with me." 

He sighed and looked into Dean's eyes. "I still want to be in bed with you. Do you think we'll be safe for now? I really need to rest."

* * *

He was still woozy, but the events and impressions Sam described from the hospital were coherent and logical enough. Dean listened to Sam's litany with a growing sense of panic, though he remained still and calm, outwardly. The last thing they needed was cops on their doorstep. The names wouldn't match, but if anyone had identified Baby as they were driving away from the hospital, he doubted it would take long to find them in a small town. 

"Oh god, they did that to you?" Just the thought made Dean nauseous. He cringed in sympathy at Sam's brief descriptions of the tests performed. Obviously they had done so – Sam wouldn't make that up. He saw red that anyone had _handled_ his brother in that manner. If he'd known that before, he wouldn't have been anything resembling nice.

"Just because you had sex," Dean said, trying to find any way around it, "doesn't necessarily mean it was with me. Deny, deny. They can't arrest me for taking you out of there if you tell them you asked me to. As far as _us_ , if it comes to that, we're both adults and it's not like we're making babies. I... I looked it up before and sodomy isn't illegal in South Dakota. Besides you were doped to the gills. You could just say you thought I was your boyfriend for a minute when you woke up in the dark in a strange place." Dean ticked off all these things on his fingers but it didn't add up to safety. Especially not the parts about Sam being too out of it to recognize his identity while supposedly being able to consent to his dicey 'escape'. Not in a small town, and not if that doctor got a hard-on to have them harassed by the law. Someone like him was likely to have a lot of clout in a podunk like this.

"I'm glad you told me. We should leave," Dean decided. He was starting to get a headache. "Whether they can make charges stick or not, you're in no condition to deal with it and I... Well, I won't vouch for being very cooperative. Let's get you dressed and out of here. You can sleep in the back seat." Getting out of town was a start, but it wouldn't be enough. No, they wouldn't be out of the woods, so to speak, till they were at the very least out of the county. It meant back roads all the way to... where ever they landed. The nearest state line was South Dakota-Nebraska, about an hour and a half away if he drove fast. Dammit, he didn't like the idea of running away. But Dean liked the idea of sticking around to play hide and seek with the local fuzz even less. 

Getting to his feet, feeling every one of his years, Earth and Hell, Dean held his hand out to Sam.

* * *

"Dean." Suddenly, Sam felt totally sober – and cold. He shivered. "Sodomy may not be illegal, but I'm pretty sure incest is. And don't even try telling me that asshole Doc went into the bathroom without a little, uh, _incentive_ from you. If they arrest us for that stunt in the hospital," his voice turned hollow, "they can take your DNA and compare it to mine. Dean, they did a fucking rape kit on me. Your DNA is in the system now. We're so screwed!"

Sam shook his head. "And that isn't even all. I totally agree with you that we should leave, but we're broke. We have gas for maybe another hundred miles and that's it. What cash I had as well as Boaz' credit card – and they'll find that soon enough – are still at the hospital. Shit, Dean, I can't think properly, just when I need my brain most. What are we going to do? Ask Pamela for money? She likes my ass..."

* * *

"Well, blind or not, that woman had better not touch your ass." She'd run a hand up Dean's leg all the way to his balls the other day – that one was _not_ shy. There were more pressing matters, though. Dean wasn't happy upon hearing about their more-dire-than-ever potential legal and financial situations. "There's nothing I can do right now about the DNA, but we do have another option, there, for money: Bobby. He knows we're good for it, and he should still be at Pamela's, I'll call him." And hope to god he picked up.

"Now, try to think... You don't have any cash stashed in the Impala? Do you have any contacts out this way, and yeah, I know it's the middle of nowhere." There were other options, too, ones Dean didn't want to consider. Not now, but by tomorrow night – or make that tonight, he could hustle. There were various types of hustling, and he'd best leave it at that. Pick-pocketing, though that was risky, especially as he was out of practice. He'd taught himself and then Sam before Sam was out of single digits. It had been, he'd told himself, mostly for Sam's benefit, so he'd never have to sell his body. To Dean's knowledge, he never had.

If none of that panned out, there was one last resort: Ruby. Dean gritted his teeth. It was mutual hatred between himself and that bitch, but she'd been 'helping' Sam while he was gone. Whatever that meant. He didn't have time to think about it right now. Sam was shivering, and he wasn't much of a care-taker to let that happen. "Stay here, Sam, I'll get you some clothes." 

Dean went into the room, threw his own clothes back on, made sure he had all necessary items on him this time, and rummaged in Sam's duffel for something semi-clean. There was a pair of sweatpants but one whiff told him exactly why Sam wouldn't want them: dried semen. He found some jeans and a shirt that seemed alright, underwear and socks. Sam's boots were back at the hospital, lost to them now. In the end pocket he found a pair of flat running shoes. They'd do. Returning to the bathroom, Dean set the bundle on the edge of the sink. "Here's some clothes – get dressed. Need any help?" 

* * *

Sam looked up dreamily to Dean standing in front of him. "I liked you better with your clothes off, but you're right; that'll have to wait," he sighed.

"To be honest, I can probably get dressed on my own, but I'll enjoy it more if you help me." He smiled.

* * *

Oh, good lord, now who was flirting? Dean's blood pressure was going to hit uncharted territory for the second time in five minutes. It was so tempting to just... No. Dean would help Sam dress, and that was all. "Sure, Sam, not gonna drive nekkid, though. Chaps my ass. Shirt on first, now." Dean shook out the plain gray tee-shirt and pulled it over Sam's head. "Okay, now your arms..."

Sam was having some trouble getting his hand into the sleeve, so Dean intervened and moved the shirt to where he could poke his hand through more easily. He snickered. "It's like you're three years old again."

* * *

"Mmh..." Sam had thought he'd manage on his own, but when he tried to get into the tee-shirt, he found it hard to coordinate his limbs and he was truly grateful for his brother's support.

"Are you telling me that I couldn't get dressed on my own when I was three?" He smiled. "Everybody kept telling me I was ahead of my age. Then again, with you taking care of me, maybe I just pretended I needed help. Hey," Sam giggled, "maybe all this is just a repeat of my childhood. Back then, I also kept bumping my head into things."

Dean helped him into his underwear and pants, then his socks. "So, are we going to ask Bobby for help?"

* * *

"Messing with you, Sammy. You could get dressed when you were three, if not twenty-six," Dean chuckled. "And you were always ahead. Or about most things." He knelt down again to slip Sam's boxer briefs and jeans over his feet. No, definitely not ogling. Since he was down there, Dean unrolled the pair of socks and without a word, pulled them on to Sam's feet. 

When Sam mentioned calling Bobby, Dean told him, "Yeah, once I get a second, or even from the road. Here's your shoes." Standing, he went back into the room to make sure they had all their meager belongings, checking under the bed and in drawers just in case. He grabbed their stuff from the bathroom, too. Once everything was packed, he took out his phone and made the call. 

Dammit, straight to voice mail. Well, it was the middle of the night yet, so not surprising. Suddenly, running past state lines didn't seem very appealing, especially if they were _that_. There was no secret stash, apparently. Dean couldn't fault Sam, since he'd laid nothing by for himself pre-Hell, either. Slinging both duffels over his shoulder, he went outside, checking the lot first, and tossed them in the Impala's trunk. Back inside, Sam was still tying his shoes, but at least he'd gotten the rest of himself pulled together. 

"Sam, no answer from Bobby. I'm thinking Plan B. Pamela must have some sort of garage or shed on her property we can hide Baby in. We should go there." It would be a much shorter drive, as well. 

* * *

Sitting on the toilet seat, Sam was fighting with his shoe laces. Somehow, his fingers didn't get the messages his brain was sending them. He was bending down, which didn't go well with his breathing, and his head felt heavy from it. In the end, he gave up on the ties and just stuffed the laces into the shoes. He'd have to walk carefully, but he didn't have far to go, just out to the Impala and then...

Getting up, Sam felt as if he were hit by a sledge hammer. His head was pounding and he suddenly thought he couldn't stay awake for another second. Dean said something about a plan B that involved hiding Baby, and Sam answered him with a relieved smile. He was too tired to think, but he knew he could always trust his brother.

"Thanks, Dean," he said. "We only need to borrow a little cash so we can drive over to..." Sam frowned. "Can you believe it? I forgot where to pick up the new credit card... Don't worry, I wrote it down, piece of paper, should be somewhere in the Impala... Dean? I think I need a bed soon. Maybe we should steal the blankets from here so we have it warm in case Pamela isn't at home and we have to sleep in the car. What do you think?" He fought to suppress a yawn and failed, feeling sheepish when he looked at Dean and almost swooned.

* * *

Sam was on his feet now, on his own, but he still looked half a minute or less from fainting. "I'll grab the blankets, you get in the car – in the back," Dean agreed. "We'll worry about money and stuff later – it's too dark to look for your paper right now."

They used to always carry a full kit of sub-zero camping gear for at least two people. Since being back, Dean hadn't had any reason to ask about it, and he didn't have time to check now. Unreasonable panic was starting to grip him, and make him shaky. While Sam wandered outside, Dean stripped the bed, grabbed a pillow, and followed him out. He tossed the pillow into the back seat, motioning Sam in. Beast of a car or not, it would still not be the most comfortable for Sam and his long legs and huge feet and those crazy-wide shoulders, but better than some of the nasty alternatives coming to mind: jail cell, psych ward, dead in a ditch somewhere. "C'mon, Sam, we've gotta go." 

Finally Dean tossed the blankets in and bodily hurried Sam forward. It wasn't lost on him that his brother could barely stay upright, and he pretty much carried him the last few feet, then plunked him down on the bench seat and folded his legs in after. 

Dean took his place behind the wheel, started the engine, and he checked his rear-view mirror. "You can sleep again, Sam, I'll get us to Pamela's."

* * *

"Oah, I love you!" Sam groaned when he was more or less horizontal again. He rooted around for the least uncomfortable position. It didn't take a genius to figure that he was several sizes too large for the Impala's back seat, but years of experience had taught him that it was possible to sleep there and wake up in reasonable shape.

By the time Sam had found space for his head as well as his feet and everything in between, Dean had pulled out of the motel parking lot and Sam assumed they were half-way at Pamela's place already. 

Baby's purring soothed him to sleep, as it had done for years. With his brother on the wheel, Sam always felt safe and... home. He smiled. All would be well.


End file.
